Mind Over Matter
by rabbitfood
Summary: TRORY It was common knowledge that Rory escaped to Europe to cover up her disastrous affair with Dean. But Rory did manage to hide the fact that Emily wasn't her only travel companion. Tristan Dugrey was exactly the type of secret that altered her life. And deeply guarded secrets have a way of revealing themselves in the most inconvenient of times.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters affiliated with the show.

Chapter One: Pass Me By

She felt empty. The hole inside of her was so large that it almost made her want to explode. It was a very conflicting feeling, really. Unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life.

Well, she thought, she had never done anything that she could compare this to. She wasn't heartbroken. She knew that Dean loved her, he had admitted that much the other night when he was making love to her. God, that sounded funny, even in her own head. So if he loved her, she couldn't be broken hearted, right?

_Shame, embarrassment, anger, regret. _All words that flashed through her mind. She dismissed them. Maybe that was how she was supposed to feel. After all, she knew right from wrong and she had always assumed that those emotions should accompany sex with a married man. Yet they didn't seem to authentically describe what it was she was feeling.

"Rory?"

She looked up quickly, being called out of her thoughts and back into the hotel lobby by her grandmother. Emily was staring at her expectantly. Rory snuck a look over at the man behind the desk. He had the same expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, Grandma. I got distracted. What did you say?"

"I said, the hotel has made a grievous mistake. They seem to have lost our reservation, although I don't know how. All of the suites with a view of the Thames are all booked up and this man insists that he can't bump anyone. He can either give us a suite without a view or adjoining rooms with a view."

Rory blinked at her grandmother. Her mind felt blank, blank and empty...and full. "You choose, Grandma. I'm okay with either."

"We'll take the suite without the view, then," Emily said briskly. "However, I do expect that you will give us a reserved table in the dining room as well as complimentary spa reservations."

"Ma'am-"

Rory looked around the ornate lobby. There was a heavy flow of activity as well-dressed people came through the hotel, many of them accompanied by a bellboy with carts of luggage. Expensive looking luggage, she noted. None of it was scuffed up with those mysterious grease spots that always seemed to appear on her own suitcases when they showed up at baggage claim. She squinted her eyes to get a better look at a woman across the lobby. She looked an awful lot like that woman from the DAR who was always at the Gilmore Christmas party…

"All right, let's go up," Emily said, leading Rory towards the elevator. "We have a spa credit, an excellent table at dinner, and he is permitting us to have an early check-in. We didn't really want the view anyway," she insisted. "They claim it gives a historic view of the city, but really it just looks out over that _awful_ pedestrian bridge that is such an eye sore."

"Grandma-"

"Yes?"

"Isn't that Mrs. Locke?"

"Where?"

"Over there, by the piano?"

Emily stopped and cast her attention to the piano in question. "Why, yes it is. Addison had told me that she would be in Paris this week, what a surprise."

She steered Rory over towards her friend.

"Emily!" the woman exclaimed in a cheery greeting. "Well, shame on you for not telling us that you would be in town!"

"A last minute girls' trip," Emily said with a wave of her hand. "You remember my granddaughter Rory?"

"Why yes of course, what a pleasure it is to see you again my dear," Mrs. Locke cooed.

"Thank you, you too," Rory responded, simply.

"I was just telling Joan last night about that fabulous fundraiser you organized for the Hartford Horticultural Society last month."

"Oh, is Joan here too?" Emily asked.

"Well of course, you know that if Carolann and Cynthia book a trip that Joan simply _must _follow."

Emily leaned in towards her friend. "Then I assume that means that the third Mrs. Cartwright is here as well?"

Mrs. Locke smiled wickedly. "You know she is because she needs to keep her eye on the second Mrs. Dugrey."

The two women snickered maliciously. Rory's drifting mind snapped back into attention. "Dugrey?" she asked.

"Shhh, not so loud darling," Mrs. Locke said in a mock whisper. "I swear that woman comes like a puppy when she is called. And I can only stand her if I have a cocktail in hand."

Emily laughed. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Rory said quickly. "I went to school with a Dugrey."

"Ah yes. Michael's son," Emily responded. "Wasn't he at your sixteenth birthday party?" She didn't wait for her granddaughter to respond. "I can't believe he was ever in my home. All I ever hear now are stories that make my skin crawl."

"I wouldn't speak too loudly, Emily," Mrs. Locke warned. "He is here too. I dare say it's a poor attempt at keeping him out of trouble back home. He wasn't a friend of yours, was he darling?"

"No," Rory said truthfully.

"Well thank heavens for that. She is a good girl, Emily. Anyway, I must run. Let's do dinner?"

"We have a table reserved in the Blue Room," Emily answered.

The women exchanged goodbyes and Rory and Emily continued their walk towards the elevator.

Once safely inside the privacy of the elevator, Rory said, "I didn't know all of your friends would be here."

Emily laughed gayly. "Just a few, you know how these things go. You give one good hotel recommendation and then all of a sudden it is _the_ place in town."

Rory did not, in fact, know how these things go. But she did know her grandmother. And she knew that it was no coincidence that half of Hartford was in this hotel with them.

"We will still have plenty of time, just us girls," Emily promised as the doors swished open onto their floor.

Rory didn't know which prospect was more daunting, that of a vacation surrounded by society matrons or that of one with only her grandmother for companionship.

* * *

The Blue Room was, as it turned out, a vibrant red. The walls were papered in an expensive looking fabric that shimmered in the soft chandelier light. Rory instinctively thought about sharing the idiosyncrasy with her mother. It took her a second to register that part of that hole consuming her was made up of the fight with Lorelai. If she were being very truthful with herself, she would acknowledge that the fight was the bigger reason she had accepted her grandmother's plane ticket. But now was not the time for being honest, it was time for following the hostess and taking her seat.

"The room is red," Rory whispered to her grandmother after they had taken their seats.

"Yes, quite lovely, isn't it?" Emily agreed, looking around quickly, not really taking in any of the ornate finishings the dining room had to offer.

"Well, it is, but it's called the Blue Room," Rory countered.

"And so?" Emily replied, picking up her menu.

"It's red."

"I can see that."

"It's called Blue."

Emily glanced over her menu. "Oh you know those English," she said, waving away any further comment from Rory regarding the blueness of the room.

Rory quickly pushed away the wave of longing she felt for her mother. She reached for her own menu. She was a big girl. She could do this on her own, without her mother.

"Mother?"

The word, spoken out loud, caused Rory to jump. She looked up and saw none other than Tristan Dugrey towering over the table at which they were seated. Speechless, confused, she glanced quickly from Tristan to her grandmother, then back to Tristan.

"Mother, is that you?"

"Young man, I do not know what you are playing at, but would you please excuse us from your charade?" Emily commanded swiftly.

Tristan cocked his head, squinting at Emily. "No," he said slowly. "I'm sorry, I must have been mistaken. You see, I heard she was staying in the hotel. She ran off such a long time ago that I have forgotten what she looks like."

One glance at the horrified look on Emily's face brought words back into Rory's vocabulary.

"Tristan? What do you think you are doing?"

He turned his body and attention fully to her. "Why, Mary Gilmore. I thought that was you. Care to help me find her? We can look here, maybe the pool, maybe my room?"

"Tristan!" Rory snapped at the same instant that Emily was spitting out a very cold "Young man!"

He smirked. "Clearly I am just joking."

"Well neither of us find your little bit funny," Rory said. She realized she was sitting defensively, arms crossed over her chest, smoke practically fuming from her nostrils. She did not alter her stance.

"Ah, well," he said with a carefree shrug. "If you see the dear Mrs. Cartwright, do tell her that I am looking for her."

Tristan sauntered off, hands in his pocket. The women he left behind took a moment to compose themselves.

"So that was the Dugrey boy?" Emily asked.

Rory nodded.

"And why did he attend your birthday party? Did you used to be friends with that hooligan?"

_Hooligan._ Lorelai would have loved that, Rory thought quickly. _Ruffian, scoundrel, rogue!_ she could hear her mother chiming in.

"No, he was always like that," she said out loud. "In high school he was full of little jokes that were for his own private amusement. I never was friends with him. You were the one who invited him to my party."

"Hmph," Emily said, picking up her menu. "Why did he call you Mary?"

"Because he never bothered to learn my name in high school."

Emily squinted across the room towards Tristan's table. "I don't like it when I am wrong about someone."

Rory looked up from her own menu, searching for a response.

"Oh well," Emily added quickly. "It happens so rarely in our circle. And who can be surprised, really, with his cad of a father and whore of a mother."

"Grandma!" Rory whispered harshly.

"What?" Emily responded innocently. "Everyone in this room would agree with me."

Rory glanced around the red Blue Room. Tristan had taken a seat at a table with a man and a woman. Presumably his father and the second Mrs. Dugrey that her grandmother's friend had mentioned earlier.

The waiter approached but Rory's mind wandered away from his recitation of the specials on the menu. She replayed the whole scene with Tristan in her mind. The whole prank was lost on her. And even now, minutes later, she seethed with embarrassment. It was a familiar emotion attached to him, even though it had been years since they had spoken. She hadn't even thought of him since leaving Chilton a year ago.

Emily finished rattling off her complicated dinner request to the waiter. He turned expectantly to Rory. "I'll have the same," she said, not daring to admit that she hadn't listened to a word he had said.

"I didn't think you liked duck," Emily said as the waiter slipped away.

Rory groaned inwardly. Awesome. Duck. What was she doing here?

"So, what shall we do this week in London?" Emily asked brightly.

Rory thought for a moment. "Well, Mom and I were only here for a couple of days last summer, which didn't do the city justice."

"I'll say," Emily said. There was an edge of judgment in her voice. "A young girl needs to spend at least a week in London to really get a sense of the city. What would you like to see?"

"I made a list on the plane," Rory answered. She opened her purse and pulled out the sheet of notepaper and handed it to her grandmother.

"Westminster Abbey, the British Museum, the National Gallery...those are all wonderful choices. I was thinking we should do some shopping at Harrod's, and maybe tea at the Orangery in Kensington Gardens?"

"Sure, Grandma. I'm sure we can fit that all in."

"Did you go to any of these places with your mother last summer?"

"No, no. We did more of a pop culture tour. Abbey Road, double decker buses, and of course, retracing Hugh Grant's footsteps in Notting Hill…"

"I see," Emily responded coolly. "Well, it's a good thing that we are here until Friday, isn't it? Tomorrow we can start with the National Gallery. Then perhaps Tuesday we can go to Harrod's. Now I know you don't always love to shop with me, but I insist we have a girl's afternoon browsing through the most famous department store in the world. You won't deny me that, will you?"

"That sounds fun, Grandma."

"Oh good. Oh, and the wine is here," Emily announced as the waiter approached the table. Rory took advantage of the distraction to look around the room again. Her eyes fell squarely on Tristan, who was staring right at her. She turned her attention quickly back to her grandmother.

"Now, Rory, I know that we don't serve you wine at home, but this is just a little wine with dinner. You won't tell your mother, will you?"

Rory smiled and shook her head. "No, I can promise you I won't say a thing to her."

She took a sip of the cold white wine in front of her. She liked the gentle bite and the way she could feel it trickle down her throat. She took another sip.

The story Emily had begun to tell was interrupted by the arrival of the woman they had bumped into in the lobby. The two women greeted each other enthusiastically. She looked around. He was still watching her. Rory took a third sip of wine.

"If you'll excuse me for a second, I'm just going to run to the lady's room," she said quickly. Their flow of conversation stopped for just a second as Emily nodded her understanding.

Rory slipped away and hurried across the room towards the sign marking the bathrooms.

In the bathroom, she ran her hands under the cool tap water. She pressed her wet hands to the back of her neck, trying to center herself. She was feeling boxed in. Completely surrounded by a room of people whom she wanted to avoid. She didn't want duck. Maybe she would just make her excuses to her grandmother and order a burger in her room. She grabbed a paper towel and dug through her purse to find a tip for the washroom attendant.

She fiddled with the clasp of her purse as she hurried out of the bathroom. And she hurried right into a solid mass of flesh. She looked up. Tristan's flesh, waiting for her outside the restroom door.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pushing past him.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her from returning to the dining room.

"What are you doing here?"

"Making sure my nose is adequately powdered before my duck is served," she answered dryly, tugging her arm free from his grasp.

"Not _here_," he said, jerking his head towards the bathroom. "Here. At this hotel."

"Traveling."

"With these people?"

"With my grandmother."

"Why?"

"Why are you?" she spat back. "And what do you think you were playing at with that little show at my table a few minutes ago?"

"It gets boring, I have to entertain myself somehow."

"By mortifying me in front of my grandmother?" She was almost yelling now.

He shrugged carelessly. "I like that I can still get a rise out of you. You let yourself be such an easy target."

Rory stared him dead in the eyes. She let a second pass before she said evenly, "Stay the hell away from me."

She turned and walked back to her table. She didn't turn as she heard Tristan say "When will you learn, Mary? The chase just makes the prey more desirable."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any characters associated with the show.

Chapter Two: A Day in the Life

Rory stood in the hotel lobby contemplating the brochures that were laid out in front of her by the concierge. Emily had chosen to stay in bed, citing a terrible case of jetlag. Rory had her own suspicions. She had heard Emily arguing heatedly with Richard on the telephone in the middle of the night. Emily wasn't maladjusted to the timezone, she was wallowing over the sorry state of her personal life. Rory could relate. But she was in Europe and she wasn't going to cry in bed over the mess she had made with Dean and Lorelai back home. Not today, anyway.

Since her grandmother wasn't joining her she could change her plans and go somewhere touristy and crowded, somewhere Emily would refuse to go. She picked up a pamphlet advertising the Tower of London. She flipped it open and began reading the information blurb inside.

"I wouldn't go with that one," a voice said. She looked up. Tristan reached over her shoulder, presumably to grab a brochure. His face was just inches from hers. He paused gratuitously.

"And why should I listen to you?" she asked.

"Because I know how to show a girl a good time."

Rory took a step back. "You are disgusting."

"And you are being rude."

"I'm being rude?" she asked. "You know what, no," she said, grabbing her pamphlets. "Please, just go. I want to have a nice day. And this, right here? Not so nice."

For the second time in twelve hours, Rory stormed away from Tristan. She waited until Tristan had walked away before she asked the concierge to hail her a cab, for one, to the Tower of London.

* * *

"So now you are stalking me?" she asked when she saw him leaning casually against a wall near the ticket booth.

"Just looking for some company."

"And why in God's name do you want me for company? So you can just antagonize me all day? Thank you, but I'm not interested." She started storming off again, but this time Tristan caught up with her in several easy strides.

"I told you last night, there aren't many people around under the age of thirty. Unless you count my stepmother. Can you blame me for trying to spend summer with people my own age."

"You should have stayed home."

"Not an option."

"Well, then, go find another friend."

"Mary…"

"Tristan!"

"Look, if you are still mad at me about the dumb little prank I pulled at dinner last night, then I'm sorry. It was pretty lame. And may I point out that since then I have been trying to be nice."

"By stalking me?"

"I'm trying," he said, looking at her with more earnesty than Rory had seen in his expression thusfar. She sighed.

"I already got us two tickets," he said, pulling them out of his pocket and fanning them out in front of her. "I'll show you that I can be good company."

Rory looked around uncomfortably. "Fine," she said, taking a ticket.

They walked in silence towards the entrance to the main courtyard. "So what do you want to see first?" she asked at length.

"Nothing really," he answered.

"Come on, you can't do that," she said, stopping dead in her tracks. "You don't get to tag along and act like this is torture for you."

"Fine," he said and took the brochure from her hands. He scanned it for a minute and handed it back to her. "The Beauchamp Tower."

They followed the signs that led them to their destination. The interior of the tower was dark and cool, even though the day was surprisingly clear and warm, for London. Rory stopped in front of a plaque.

"Huh," she said as she finished reading and took a step away to begin exploring the first room.

"What?" Tristan asked.

"Read it yourself."

Tristan leaned forward and read the sign. "So they kept some pretty high profile prisoners in here," he said.

"Did you read the part that said many carved names and symbols into the stone walls?"

"Yeah," he answered simply.

They quietly walked the perimeter of the first room, stopping to look at many of the names that had been carved centuries ago and covered in protective glass. When they finished the first room, Tristan followed Rory silently into the next room, and the next.

In the fourth room Tristan asked, "Can you imagine being locked up in here?"

Rory looked around, taking in the dark tower. "No. Especially since so many of these people were innocent of any real crime."

"It seems treason was a pretty popular one," Tristan added. "Imagine being sentenced to death just because something you said pissed someone off?"

Rory turned to him. "It would probably make you think twice before _trying_ to piss someone off."

A slow smirk spread across Tristan's lips. Something about his impish look cracked the somber tension that had followed them around the tower. "I guess I deserved that."

"Mmm, you did," she responded lightly. She walked away, leading Tristan through some narrow passageways and back into the courtyard.

They wandered through the courtyard and stopped near the Tower Green. They listened in on a tour led by a Yeoman Warder dressed in his long red coat, white collar, and flat top hat. Tristan snickered at his appearance but Rory shushed him so she could hear the end of his lecture on the execution of Anne Boleyn.

They silently tagged along as the tour wandered through the Green, past the monument commemorating the old execution site, past the houses that Yeoman guards had lived in for centuries. Once the tour looped back towards the building they had just explored, Tristan and Rory made their way to the exhibit featuring the Crown Jewels. Just like in the other parts of the Tower, they didn't speak much as they filed slowly through the rooms, in line with the all of the other tourists crowding the site on this late May morning.

Rory peered into the cases full of precious gems, thinking about the way the jewels had graced the necks of so many of the people she knew so well from her history books. Jewels that had been sought after by so many.

"It's pretty incredible," Tristan mumbled as he looked at a display of emeralds.

Rory crossed to the display case he was standing in front of. She looked at the way the set shimmered in the well-lit case. "I know, I can't believe these are technically a private collection," Rory answered.

"No, I mean I'm pretty sure the stepmother has half of these in her closet in New York."

Rory spun around to face Tristan, her reflective mood broken. "Okay, so I didn't bite the bait and ask about your stepmother the first three times you alluded to her. But do you need to vent or something?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You won't drop it. I feel like half the things out of your mouth have been thinly veiled cries for attention."

Tristan shoved his hands into his pocket. "I mean, what do you want to know?"

"Maybe start with whatever is making you bring her up every five seconds."

"I don't know...I mean, she sucks." Rory just watched Tristan, waiting for more. She didn't speak for a long minute, expecting him to cave and elaborate. He didn't. Rory looked around at all the families filing through the exhibit and nodded towards the exit. They made their way back to the courtyard.

"So why did you tag along with them to Europe, then?" Rory asked.

"It's like I said, I had no other option."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't."

"What does that even mean?" she asked.

"It's really none of your business."

Rory studied him. His blue eyes flashed with warning, one she chose to ignore. "You were the one who wanted some company. People who want company want to talk. So this is me trying to get to know you better."

"And do you always fucking pry into people's personal lives from day one?"

"When they drop obvious hints they want to talk, yes."

"Well I don't want to talk."

"Then screw you Tristan. If you want to hang out with me, then this is what you get. You don't get to crash my plans and try to make me feel like I'm the jerk for lending a sympathetic ear. So have a nice time brooding. I'm leaving."

This time, Tristan didn't follow her.

* * *

Emily and Rory had dinner across town in a restaurant Emily had raved about the entire flight over the Atlantic. The restaurant featured small portions of unrecognizable food. The conversation was even worse. For the first time that week Rory found herself watching the door, hoping one of her grandmother's friends would coincidentally stroll in and rescue Rory from the task of fishing for things to discuss.

She had never experienced this muteness around her grandmother. But then again usually there was Lorelai to pick up the slack. Or Richard to debate a novel with. And Emily wasn't her normal self, either. She was careful to avoid any mention of either Richard or Lorelai. Which meant the only safe topics between them were Yale and their travel plans. Two topics that they had exhausted already.

Emily did ask Rory how her trip to the Tower of London had gone. Rory tried to drag out her description of the morning as much as possible without mentioning that Tristan had toured with her. She didn't feel the need to endure Emily's line of interrogation about why she had spent the morning with him.

And so dinner passed, slowly, somewhat painfully. When they finally returned to their suite around ten, Emily said, "I think you better call your mother, don't you? We haven't called her since we landed."

Rory dropped her purse on the sofa and crossed reluctantly to the hotel phone stationed on the desk. She dialed Lorelai's number before she could hesitate and give herself away to her grandmother who, of course, had no idea that Rory did not want to speak to her mother.

"Hello?"

"Hi," Rory said shortly.

"Hey there," came her mother's voice. It wasn't as chipper as Rory was accustomed to.

"Just thought I'd check in," she tried.

"Ah, I see. How's it going?"

"Good."

"Seen much?"

"Not really."

"Really? Nothing?"

"Just the Tower of London. A park. A restaurant."

"You're killing me with the details here," her mother said sarcastically.

"Sorry. I guess I don't know what you want me to share. I thought you didn't want all of the details of things I didn't plan with you."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. "Is your grandmother in the room?" Lorelai asked at length.

"Yes."

"Then I'm not going to get into it now because believe it or not, I'm not trying to ruin your life. But hey. Thanks for at least letting me know you're alive."

"You're welcome," Rory responded dryly. She hung up the phone. Emily turned around after the receiver clicked down.

"That's it?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, Grandma," Rory said, forcing a cheery tone. "Did you want to talk to my mom?"

"No, no. Don't worry about it. Listen, I have some phone calls to make myself. Why don't you go downstairs and order us a salad? I would call room service but the last person who took my order over the phone was so incompetent that I wouldn't trust them to even that small of an order."

"You're hungry?" Rory asked.

"Aren't you? That puree wasn't enough for the mice in the kitchen."

Rory laughed, releasing a little of the tension. "Thank God."

"They must have changed chefs because I _know _that the last time we ate there...oh well. Two salads should do the trick."

* * *

"Can I order food to send up to my room?" Rory asked when the waiter approached their reserved table.

"You can just call room service, Miss."

"I'd rather order it here, thank you," she answered. The waiter looked puzzled but wrote down her order and told her he would send it right up.

"Unorthodox, but then again, I like to screw with convention."

Rory looked up and saw Tristan sliding into an empty chair at her table.

"Seriously, go get your kicks somewhere else. There are plenty of other people in this city to stalk."

"I wanted to apologize," Tristan said.

"Well I want you to stop needing to apologize. And I suspect the only way that will come to pass would be for you to leave me the hell alone."

"I'm sorry I ruined your sightseeing."

"Well that was a useless apology, because you didn't and you know it. You had very little effect on it, to be quite honest."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"That wasn't really a genuine apology," Rory countered.

"I'm trying," he said, smiling devilishly. She was about to argue that point but Tristan suddenly caught the waiter's attention and ordered a bottle of champagne on his father's tab.

"I don't want that," Rory said as soon as the waiter walked away.

"We are celebrating."

"Are we? What exactly?" she asked flatly.

"Our new friendship."

"Did you order us matching friendship bracelets too? Declare it to the rest of the kids at recess?"

"Only the ones I was trying to make jealous."

"Always a player," she said, shaking her head.

"Just trying to keep people guessing."

The waiter appeared with the bucket of champagne and two glasses. He made quite a show of opening and serving it. When he walked away Tristan raised his glass and clinked it against Rory's.

"No toast?" she asked.

"Don't believe in them."

She shook her head, thinking he was one of the most intentionally disagreeable people she had ever known. She sipped anyway. The bubbles danced as they trailed through her body.

"So you're hiding here because…" Tristan asked.

"I'm in a fight with my mother," she responded, choosing to just be honest since he was clearly not letting go of the question.

Tristan snorted. "Apologizing is usually easier than being dragged around World Heritage Sights with the women of the Hartford DAR."

"And you're not taking your own advice because…"

"Because we're not talking about me."

Rory sipped her champagne. He was studying her. She wanted to flinch under his gaze, and so she took another sip to distract herself. "It's not really a situation where an apology applies. More like I'm growing up and we're growing apart. Just life, I guess."

Tristan nodded, accepting her explanation.

"See," Rory said. "That's how you share with a new friend without showing all of your cards."

Tristan smirked. "I don't know which part of that statement to address first, the part where you conceded to being friends with me, or the part where you acknowledged there's more to your story."

"I like to keep people guessing." It came out a little more coy than teasing, but Rory gave herself a mental pat on the back for her delivery.

Tristan's retained his smirk as he shook his head. "Right. You are one of the most predictable people I have ever met in my life."

"And you can always be counted on to say the thing that will offend me the most."

"It is only 100% successful because I can always accurately predict your reaction."

Rory sipped her champagne, staring him down as a response and not daring to be the first to look away.

"So where are we going tomorrow?"

"We? My grandmother and I have plans."

"Vague."

"Miss?"

They both looked up to see the waiter had returned to the table. "Your food has been sent to your room."

"Thank you," Rory said. She stood and pushed in her chair.

"Well, goodnight. Thank you for the champagne."

"You're not going to stay and finish it?"

"I don't drink bottles of champagne with friends."

"Lovers?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Good night, Tristan."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any characters associated with the show.**

**Chapter Three: Puzzle Pieces**

He had moved to the bar in the short amount of time that had passed since Rory had left him at her table. She took a breath and crossed the dining room towards him.

"This seat taken?" she asked.

He looked up in surprise. "I thought you left."

"My suite isn't exactly a welcoming environment right now."

"Oh, your grandmother has her lover up there?"

"What? No!" she said, horrified. "No. She's on the phone. I didn't want to listen to it."

"Ah." Tristan took a sip of his drink. He had traded his champagne flute in for some kind of hard alcohol that Rory couldn't identify. It wasn't scotch, she knew the smell of that from her grandfather. She didn't ask, suddenly feeling foolish for not knowing her liquors.

"What would you like, Miss?" the bartender asked, coming over and setting a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of her.

She froze. What did she want? "A martini, please."

"Gin or vodka?"

"Gin," she said. It was her mother's drink.

"What room shall I charge it to?"

"Put it on my tab, David," Tristan said smoothly. He turned to Rory. "No need having your grandmother see your martinis showing up on her bill."

"And what will your father say when he sees the alcohol tab you have racked up tonight?" Rory asked, thinking about the expensive champagne they had essentially wasted just fifteen minutes earlier.

"My father's _accountant_ learned a long time ago not to ask questions about the mysterious charges on hotel bills."

"Oh," she said simply. She felt the awkwardness of the silence that ensued, so she pretended to dig through her little clutch. She grabbed her Chapstick and quickly applied a coat. Without looking over at Tristan she could tell that he was watching her. She capped the balm and put it back into her purse. David, the bartender, put the martini glass down in front of her and she quickly took a sip. She wrinkled up her nose as the piney-taste burned through her senses.

"Martinis, huh? I didn't picture that as your drink of choice. Is that what they serve at Harvard frat parties?"

She set down her glass. "I go to Yale."

He actually let out a short laugh. "You? Your locker was like the Harvard pennant museum. What happened?"

Rory shrugged and wrapped her fingers around the stem of the martini glass. "In the end I wanted to go to Yale more."

"I heard that Paris Gellar goes there."

"She's my roommate."

"What?" he asked. This time his laughter rang out genuinely. "And how is that working for you?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "Paris is Paris."

"She was totally in love with me, wasn't she?" Tristan asked.

"She's moved on, trust me," Rory said, thinking about Paris' love affair with Professor Asher Fleming. She took a sip of her martini. How did her mother drink these things? "What about you?" she asked.

"What about me," he challenged.

"School. I heard it from a little birdie that you were expelled from Columbia. Is that true?"

"Would this little birdie be Mrs. Locke?" Tristan asked.

"I would never reveal my sources."

"Spoken like a journalist."

"Why thank you. Answer the question."

"The provost at Columbia and I seemed to have differing views on acceptable behavior."

"Meaning…"

"Meaning I will not be returning in the fall."

"Because…"

"Because even a big check from my father couldn't make them look the other way and ignore the times I had been written up for illegal substance possession."

"Alcohol?"

"Cocaine."

The word stiffened Rory's spine. "Oh," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"That's a new one. No one has felt sorry for me about that one yet."

"That's not a sympathy sorry," Rory said evenly with a shake of her head. "That was an, I'm sorry I even asked."

Tristan laughed bitterly and swirled the drink in his hand. "You wanted me to open up. Not my fault that you don't like what it is I bring to the table."

Rory studied him as he tossed his head back and finished his drink. He slid the glass across the counter and requested another. When he finally turned back to her his blue eyes were flashing with a defensive look that was almost challenging Rory to lecture him.

She took a sip of the burning martini and put the glass back down on the bar loudly, causing some of the mixture to slosh out of the glass. "You make me feel like such an idiot," she said evenly.

Tristan furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to chime in, but she interrupted him.

"Naive, maybe that's a more accurate word. Here I am choking down the only alcoholic drink I know how to order and you are sitting here telling me that you like doing cocaine."

"I never said…"

"Well. Do you?"

Tristan held her challenging gaze for a minute, and then, without breaking eye contact, said "yes." He looked away then, towards his fresh drink which he grabbed, took a large swallow, and grimaced.

He stared out past the counter to the collection of top shelf liquors on display along the mirrored shelves that made up the wall behind the bar. Rory took the opportunity to look at him, really look at him for perhaps the first time since he had approached her and her grandmother at dinner the night before. His features had matured some. His hair was shaggy and disheveled. His frame had filled out. He was wearing a rather preppy sweater that hugged a lean but obviously muscular torso. He was growing into manhood, Rory thought. Nineteen. Just a boy, really. Just like she couldn't call herself a woman without flinching from the word in her head. They were still teenagers. Kids.

"So what, now you're going to go run upstairs to your room and avoid me and my debauchery?"

He was studying her now, she could feel the way his eyes were taking her in.

"No," she said softly. "I'm going to ask you why you got messed up in that crap."

He let out a bitter laugh. "Why?" he repeated. He turned away so that he was staring straight ahead again. "We're not all you, Mary."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"We're not all happy eating alone at the lunch table lost in a book and a CD. Some of us are stuck in the rat race that is Keeping Up with the Jones's."

Her cheeks flushed hotly. She could feel the warmth spread as the tingle crept across her cheeks. She tucked a short strand of hair behind her ear.

"That wasn't meant to embarrass you," Tristan said. "You've never been one to do shit just because it's there in front of you. And that's cool. You'll get further in life because of it."

Rory wanted to argue with him, tell him that he was writing her off too easily. But then she thought about the Spring Break trip that she had taken with Paris. She had been on the outskirts of that experience, mostly watching the other college kids party while she had sat back and rented movies in her hotel room.

"I go to Yale, Tristan. I don't party because too much is at stake. Not because I am immune to what other people think about me."

"I know guys at Yale. They don't seem to be too worried about the consequences of their weekends."

"See, and that's where you don't understand what I have to work for."

"Meaning?"

"I have a lot more to prove than any guy that you know there."

"And what makes you think that?"

"I've always had to work hard to hold my place in your world. It wasn't just given to me."

"Your world and mine are seeming to collide. I don't think we're really that different."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, disbelieving. "You see me as your equal?"

"Do you really care to be equal to these people?" he asked, gesturing around vaguely.

"That's not my question."

"You are a Gilmore."

"A Gilmore who had to work hard to be accepted to Chilton. One who had to become valedictorian to even be considered for Yale."

"And who told you that?"

"Well, no one. But it's not exactly an easy place to get accepted to."

"Your grandfather is the most outspoken and deep-pocketed Yale Alumnus in the entire city of Hartford. You are a Legacy. You were a shoe-in from birth."

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Make it sound like everything that I have accomplished so far in life can be so easily dismissed by saying that my acceptance was a given, even if I had floated by accepting mediocre work out of myself."

"I'm not dismissing the fact that you have worked hard. I'm simply pointing out the fact that you are forcing yourself into this corner, watching life go by. And that's on you. Because you seem to be the only person who thinks that you don't have an equal right to be there."

Rory sipped her martini, which was burning less, now that she thought about it. She didn't have a way to argue Tristan's point. What did he know? Yale was like Chilton all over again. She had more friends now than she did in high school. But she was a Stars Hollow girl. Someone who still spent Friday nights with her grandmother and many Saturdays in her town square participating in some kind of festival or event. She could count the amount of times that she had gone to a party at Yale on one hand. And she didn't feel like she was missing out on college. She participated. There was the paper, and her card-swiping job. Her classes and roommates. So maybe all of her time in Stars Hollow with her mother was keeping a piece of her from experiencing the kegstands and Rush Week parties that she knew were happening somewhere on campus. But her heart wasn't completely in one piece at Yale. Especially not now, with Dean back in her life.

"You're angry," Tristan said, pulling Rory out of her thoughts.

"No," she replied honestly. "I just don't think you understand."

"Maybe I don't," he conceded. He turned back to his drink, not asking her to elaborate. She finished her own martini.

"Want another?" he asked.

She slipped out of her chair and grabbed her purse. "No, thanks. I think it is time for bed."

* * *

Maybe it was the time change, maybe her conversation with Tristan, but Rory couldn't seem to fall asleep that night. She tossed and turned until all of the crisp, clean hotel sheets felt twisted and used. She was having a hard time finding her spot in the big bed. The middle made her feel lost in an expanse, the sides made her feel lonely. And so, every few minutes she rolled, hoping to find a position that would quiet her mind and welcome sleep.

To be honest, she longed for her twin sized bed. At the moment it didn't matter if that bed were the one in Stars Hollow or the one in her dorm. But single people were meant to sleep in a bed for one. Anything bigger just served as a reminder of what, or who, was missing from her side. A reminder that never seemed to have plagued her back in her twin-sized days.

Her mind drifted to Lorelai's bed in Stars Hollow. How many nights over the years had she tossed and turned in bed, Rory tucked in downstairs? How many years had Lorelai felt the biting loneliness that Rory was pushing away right now? For all of the years that Lorelai had professed to being open to talking about sex with her daughter, she had failed to open up about the absence of it from her life.

Tonight, all of a sudden, it was eating at her that she had never fallen asleep in Dean's arms. There was just that night, so many years ago, when they had fallen asleep at Miss Patty's Studio after the Chilton dance. But that didn't count. She was quickly realizing that her one regret from their love affair was the fact that they had parted both times like the guilty lovers they were. She had never yet experienced the feeling of waking up next to a man and seeing his stubble in the morning light. Nor had she felt a man pull him to her in sleep. Or kiss her goodnight just to reach to turn out the light and stay, filling the lonely part of her bed. Dean had experienced all of these things. Was experiencing them tonight, with his wife. It was just Rory who was alone in her inexperience.

**For the first time since losing her virginity to Dean just three nights ago, Rory cried for what she had done.**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any character associated with the show.

Chapter Four: Visitor

Wednesday morning dawned cool and cloudy. The stormy weather did little to help rouse Rory from the stupor she was in following her sleepless night. Rory splashed cold water on her face and even put on some makeup before breakfast, but it did little to hide the drawn expression on her face.

She was surprised to see her grandmother sitting up in the living room that connected their rooms. She was dressed in a Chanel suit, sipping coffee from a dainty china cup and reading a guidebook. She looked up when Rory walked into the room, and Rory could see that there were dark circles under her grandmother's eyes.

"There's breakfast on the tray over there," Emily said, pointing towards the writing desk by the window. Rory poured herself some coffee from the silver pot and joined her grandmother on the sofa.

"So what does the guidebook have in store for us today?"

"I was thinking that since the weather is so gloomy today would be a good day to get lost in Harrod's."

"Sure," Rory said vaguely. Her mind flashed to the time last year that she and her mother had bumped into Emily at the mall, and Emily had proceeded to purchase half of everything for sale just to make a point to Richard. She felt ill-equipped to handle a repeat without her mother.

"We need to find you a dress for the Cartwright-Andrews wedding Saturday."

"Wait, I'm going?" she asked, trying to keep an even note in her voice. "I thought you had to decline Grandpa's invitation."

"Well of course I did. And I explained to Missy that you are my traveling companion and she said you were most welcome to have Richard's seat."

"Oh," Rory said simply. She couldn't even pinpoint how she felt about the situation. It's not like she had anything better to do by herself at night in a foreign city. But still...a stranger's wedding?

"So I know we had discussed staying on in London for a whole week, but the wedding is in France in a darling chateau outside of Paris. I was looking at the weather this morning and it seems like these clouds are going to continue through the weekend anyway. I was thinking that we could have a girl's day shopping today, tour the National Gallery tomorrow morning, and catch a flight to Paris tomorrow night? That way we can spend Thursday and Friday night in Paris and drive out to the chateau Saturday morning before the wedding. Does that give you enough time in Paris?"

"Mom and I went to Paris last summer," Rory affirmed, her uncaffeinated mind spinning a little as she tried to comprehend her grandmother's itinerary.

"Good. I thought so. We can eat at some of my favorite restaurants and do a little sightseeing. But Paris is just _so_ overrun this time of year. The true Parisians leave the city. So perhaps after the wedding we can spend the week in Cannes or Nice? Enjoy the south of France?"

"That sounds fine," Rory answered.

"Maybe a week in each," Emily said, studying her granddaughter's face. "You seem to need more time to unwind from your exams."

Rory smiled half-heartedly. "Yeah, it has all been pretty stressful. The beach sounds nice."

Emily patted Rory's knee. "Then I will get on the phone with the travel agent right after breakfast."

* * *

Rory looked around her room at the multitude of bags that she had come home with yesterday afternoon. Harrod's had been exactly what she had expected: her grandmother going on a shopping spree to revamp Rory's wardrobe. The clothes weren't terrible, Rory had to admit. She did have a twinge of guilt over the excess of it all. They had bought enough new things to fill up another suitcase, which had been delivered that evening.

She got to work transferring her new things to her new bag. There were the bathing suits for Cannes, the hats and wraps and other ridiculous accessories that were useless in her real life. Then the dress and shoes, jewelry and clutch for the wedding that weekend. She had to admit that she loved the dress her grandmother had found. It was a navy sheath dress that hugged her frame, covered in a dark lace and trimmed with beads that added just the right amount of shimmer.

They were catching a late afternoon flight to Charles DeGaulle Airport. Absently, Rory wondered what Tristan had been up to. She hadn't run into him at all yesterday, and she knew she wouldn't today. How did he fill his days abroad? It had felt like they had spent so much time together the last few days, but really, she knew next to nothing about him.

Before she could stop herself, she was reaching for the phone on the bedside table. To her surprise, he answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Rory."

There was a pause. "Well, hey."

"Hi."

"And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Rory wrapped the spiraled cord around her finger. "I guess I just wanted to let you know we're checking out this morning."

"Oh," he said, flatly.

Rory started to wonder why she had bothered to call him.

"So, I guess, um, I'll see you around? Maybe in another three years or something…"

"Where next?"

"What?"

"Where are you guys going next?"

"Oh. Paris. There's a wedding in France. Then Cannes next week."

"You can't go to Cannes next week."

"Excuse me?" she asked, discomfort fading as the irritation that she was growing familiar with set in.

"I mean, you can if you want to spend all week fighting Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston for a table at a decent restaurant."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's May. The Cannes Film Festival is wrapping up next week. I'm sure your grandmother would love Clooney and all, but you may want to tell her to change your plans."

"Oh," she said again. "Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

"So, yeah. Good luck. With...stuff."

"Stuff?"

"You know. What we talked about the other night."

"Expulsion, drugs, step mothers?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks," he said slowly, almost mockingly. "You too."

"Thanks." There was a long pause. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for him to say, but he clearly wasn't going to say it. "Bye, Tristan."

"Goodbye, Mary."

She hung up the receiver and watched it rock as it settled into the cradle. Suddenly her impulsive decision to say goodbye to him felt foolish. Foolish. A familiar emotion around him.

Well, on the bright side, she probably wouldn't ever run into him again. She shook off the embarrassment and went to go find her grandmother to talk about altering their travel plans.

* * *

A knock on the main door of the suite roused Rory. She must have dozed off as she flipped through her guidebook for the Louvre. She was planning on visiting with her grandmother the following morning before they had to return to the hotel to dress for the wedding.

The knock sounded again. Rory jumped off her bed and crossed the length of the suite quickly, hoping her grandmother wouldn't wake up. She opened a door a crack just as the visitor knocked a third time.

Tristan stood in the hall. He was dressed in a suit, his tie loose and dangling from his throat. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, revealing his white undershirt. He was leaning against the doorframe, one fist hanging, interrupted, in the air. His other hand held two wine glasses dangling by their stems, a wine bottle tucked in the crook of his elbow.

"Surprise," he said a drunk, sloppy smile on his face.

Rory's first thought after recovering from the shock of seeing him in her doorway was the sinking realization that she wasn't wearing a bra. She quickly crossed her arms, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

A smirk grew across his face. "Surprise…" he repeated.

She quickly shushed him and threw a look over her shoulder to check that the door to her grandmother's room was still closed.

"Invite me in?"

"It's late. My grandmother's asleep."

He pushed himself off of the doorframe and slipped past her into the dark living room. He flopped down on the loveseat, kicking one leg up over the arm.

Rory stared at him for a moment, trying to think of something she could say that would get him out of the suite without waking her grandmother. But as the moment stretched on she started to fear that he was going to pass out on the sofa. And she didn't think she could explain that one to Emily in the morning.

Before she could change her mind, Rory quietly closed the door to the hallway. "Come on," she said quietly, smacking Tristan lightly on the shoulder. She led the way to her bedroom. Before she turned she could see the interested expression on Tristan's face, illuminated by the soft light pouring into the window from the Parisian streets.

* * *

By the time Rory emerged from the bathroom with a bra restored to her frame, Tristan was stretched out on her bed. Rory crossed the room and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. She moved the postcards she had been writing onto the bedside table.

"Who are those for?" he asked.

"Friends."

"Paris?"

"I don't even know where she is this summer, to be honest. They're for people back in Stars Hollow."

"Ah, the Hollow."

"Yup," she said. Silence lingered between them for a moment. Rory wanted to know what he was doing there, in Paris, in her room, but he seemed to be half asleep.

"Want some wine?" he asked at last, raising himself slightly and reaching for the abandoned wine bottle on the bedside table closest to him.

"No, and you're drunk." She leaned over him to grab the bottle herself. "You don't want any either."

"Oh, but I do," he said, his voice husky and teasing.

Rory quickly settled herself back on her side of the bed. She sat cross-legged, her body turned towards him. "Where exactly did you come from?"

"Your mother never gave you the talk?"

"Tonight."

He smiled lazily. "A rehearsal dinner."

Realization washed over Rory in waves. A rehearsal dinner. The wedding she was going to tomorrow. Cartwright. His mother's new name.

"So the bride is your…"

"Step-sister."

"Jesus, you are such a jerk!" she hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. "Why did you let me go on and on over the phone if you _knew_ we were going to the same city, the same damn hotel even!"

"Ah, it was just so cute. Calling to say bye. My parents don't even always call me to tell me they are leaving the country. I couldn't resist a little surprise."

She looked at him then, all disheveled and drowsy, lounging against her pillows. And somewhere inside of her she realized that she was relieved to see him. The past two or three days had been emptier without his antics.

Rory unfolded her body and leaned back against the pillows.

"So what do you do here, when you're not sneaking up on me, that is."

"Drink."

"Well I cut you off for the night. So what else."

He sighed. Then he felt around the bedside table until he encountered the remote. He pointed it towards the small television and turned it on.

"TV?"

"I am somewhat of a foreign TV connoisseur."

"That's a bold statement."

He flipped through the stations for a minute until he landed on a variety show. A man was spinning plates that were balancing on a long stick. Only two plates were spinning although there seemed to ten or so more sticks lined up and ready to go.

"Voila," Tristan said. He dropped the remote on the bed between them.

They watched the act for a few minutes. The performer ran back and forth between the two plates, making sure they were both still spinning. In between he would clumsily build odd designs with boxes, then break them down.

"How do you think you get started in plate spinning?" Rory mused.

"A boring dinner party maybe? Look at the host over there…he looks like he's counting down the time until he can get to the bar."

"I am starting to get anxious waiting for these other plates to start spinning."

"Oh look, the host is busting his balls."

"I think he just suggested sending him to the guillotine."

"That's just wrong, Gilmore."

"Let them eat cake."

"Oh, here he goes," Tristan said. They watched for several minutes as the performer continued to add spinning plates. Rory found herself strangely enthralled. When the full dozen were spinning and the crowd was cheering wildly, Rory turned to comment to Tristan about the practice schedule the guy must have. But Tristan was fast asleep.

Shit.

She looked at the clock. It was 12:39. She had to get him out of her room. Him hanging out in there was bad enough. There was no way she could explain a sleeping boy to her grandmother.

Rory shook him. "Wake up," she hissed.

He stirred but didn't wake.

"Come on Tristan," she said softly. He cracked an eye open. "Get up." She shoved him.

"Jesus," he swore, stumbling to land on his feet as he slid off the bed.

"Good night, Tristan."

"What happened to the plate guy?"

"He spun plates." She was off the bed now too, pushing him towards the door. "Time for bed."

"I was in bed."

"Your bed."

They were in the living room now. Tristan spun and stopped short, causing Rory to bump into him in the dark room. He wrapped an arm around her waist before she could even think about what was happening.

"You could be in my bed too."

Time froze for a moment. He was warm and his grip on her waist was commanding. She didn't hate it. But she didn't really want it, either.

"Good night, Tristan," she said. And without another word, she pushed him out the door of the suite, locking it behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own GG or any characters associated with the show

Chapter Five: What is Love?

The wedding was held at the Chateau Malmaison just outside of Paris. Rory's research that morning had informed her that the Chateau was the former home of Napolean and his wife Josephine. And suddenly she was excited for the day ahead, excited to spend the evening in the home of the man who had shaped entire text books.

Emily had arranged for a car service to drive them the seven or so miles to the Chateau. Emily was quiet during the ride. She hadn't said much all day, which had kept Rory preoccupied in the morning. At first Rory was almost certain that her grandmother had heard the midnight guest and was subsequently giving Rory a silent treatment of sorts. But as the day dragged on it became clear that her silence was a reaction to something internal. Richard, probably. Rory couldn't quite wrap her head around her grandparents' marital woes. So she turned her attention to the scenic drive beyond the Paris city limits.

The wedding itself was set up on the grounds of the estate. While the gardens looked inviting, Rory was disappointed that the guests were being steered away from the house itself. She knew that it was set up as a museum of sorts, and she was desperate to get a look inside. The string quartet was already playing, however, so Emily and Rory went straight to the white chairs on the lawn to wait for the ceremony to begin.

"This is kind of funny, being at a wedding where I have never met the bride or the groom. I don't even know what she looks like."

"Have you been to many weddings?" Emily asked her granddaughter.

"I've only been a guest at a few. Sookie's was the most recent one. Then there's been all the Korean weddings at my friend Lane's house. I have been the casual observer of many a weddings at the Independence Inn. And let me tell you, Mom and I really got good at predicting cake flavors based on the bridesmaid dress colors."

"Ah," Emily said vaguely, not requesting more details. Then, "Have you spoken to your mother since we have been in France?"

"I was going to call her tonight," she lied.

"Yes, might as well share the wedding with her."

They sat in silence for a few minutes as they watched the seats fill in around them.

"It looks like there are a lot of guests," Rory mused.

"I'd say around two hundred-fifty," Emily affirmed. She sighed. Rory looked at her grandmother quizzically. "Do you ever think about your wedding, Rory?" she asked, surprising her granddaughter.

"Sometimes," Rory answered.

"Just sometimes?"

"I don't know, Grandma. I'm not even twenty."

"When I was your age all I could think about was my wedding."

"Things were different back then, though," Rory countered gently.

"Were they really?" Emily asked. It wasn't argumentative, just reflective. "I was in school, just like you. Studying humanities, like you. The world wasn't quite as idyllic then as people like to remember it. I could have gone on to be one of those women that forged ahead in her career. I hadn't met your grandfather at nineteen, but he would walk into my life a few months later. And even then, without a man and with the ability to go on in the world, all I could see were my lilies and orchids tied into their bouquet."

Rory studied her grandmother. Perhaps for the first time in the week or so they had been traveling together she stopped to really think about the toll her grandparents' separation was taking on her grandma. She looked...sad. She was even holding her frame just a little less rigidly. There seemed to be a visible weight on her shoulders.

"I want a white dress, but I haven't settled on a style yet. Definitely no poof. I'm not a very poofy person. I also can't really decide on the type of cake. I figure that Sookie will make it and she can just have free reign. I do know that I want bouquets of wildflowers. And a band."

Emily smiled at Rory, emotion in her eyes. "Your wedding will be lovely, dear."

* * *

Emily was seated at their table, visiting with her same crowd of Hartford friends, many of them from the DAR. Rory looked out across the dance floor. There were only several couples swaying to the soft music. She looked back at her grandmother who was chatting away. She had waited an acceptable amount of time, Rory decided. She got up and slipped away from the table.

Rory made her way towards the Chateau, away from the wedding party. The sun was low in the sky, but there was plenty of light to illuminate the short path to the house. Rory approached the main entrance. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. She circled the house slowly, standing on tiptoe to peek into windows as she tried to catch a glimpse inside the rooms.

"There's a way in, you know."

Rory spun at the sound of his voice.

"You scared me," she said, stepping away from the window.

"Are you trying to hide in there?"

"No, just interested."

Tristan studied her for a moment. "So you really like all this stuff, don't you?"

"Define stuff."

"Touring all of these old places."

It was her turn to study him. He looked handsome in his suit, like he was accustomed to fine tailoring. He probably was. She thought back to the way he had always looked so casual in his Chilton uniform. Somehow he looked just as relaxed.

"Do you know where we are?" she asked.

"France," he responded, a smile playing on his lips. "That was easy."

"This is the Chateau that Napoleon and Josephine lived in."

"Huh," he said. He took a step back, craning his head to take in the full view of the house. "And you want to go take a look inside?"

"And you don't? Can you even imagine how much history has happened here, within these walls? All of his scheming, all of his ambitions...all here in this home."

She knew he was looking at her like she was crazy. But after a moment he said, "Come on," and beckoned for her to follow him around the house. They ended up in a back courtyard. There were caterers milling about, some heading back and forth to the wedding tent, some having a cigarette break outside.

"What are we doing back here?" she asked.

"We can get in through the kitchen."

"That's crazy."

"So?"

He took off towards the kitchen. After calling his name a few times in a fruitless effort to slow him down, Rory followed him.

No one in the kitchen made any attempt to stop them as Tristan marched determinedly through, Rory following behind. They passed through the kitchen and followed a narrow hallway until they passed through a door and found themselves in the dining room.

"This is crazy," Rory whispered. "There are probably alarms."

"No way, not with all the staff working in the kitchen." He turned to her, his face lit by the setting sun creeping in through the floor to ceiling windows. He smiled. "We'll have to be quick if you want to catch the sunlight."

They wandered through the living spaces on the main floor without saying a word. She moved slowly, examining the preserved furniture and possessions that were on display. Tristan followed a few steps behind her. She had the sensation that he was watching her, ignoring the things that were there to be admired.

"So what's your fascination with this guy?" Tristan asked at length.

She turned from the letters that were on display, but hard to read in the dim light. "Napoleon was one of the most powerful men to have ever lived, but he was completely crippled by his love for Josephine."

"So that's your thing? Powerful guys in the boardroom who are puppydogs in the bedroom?"

"I just love the juxtaposition. This man is immortalized in history books as being this world power who conquered nations and was defeated in a humiliating loss at Waterloo. But in reality he was just a man. He loved his wife and was driven half-insane by her love affairs. Even when he was at the peak of his power and influence he was writing these incredible letters that betrayed him to be a love sick fool."

"Brought down by a woman," Tristan said, shaking his head. "Maybe he wasn't such a genius strategist after all."

"Speaking of women," Rory said, "why are you in here with me? Shouldn't you be entertaining your date?"

Tristan smirked. "So you saw her?"

"Her cleavage was hard to miss."

He let out a short laugh. "I like a little mystery."

"There's no room for mystery in that dress."

"I meant me," he said, smiling. It was infectious. Rory felt herself catching it, a smirk tugging at her own lips.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked, surprising herself.

"And tell me Lorelai Gilmore. What is love?'

She shouldn't have been surprised that he deflected the question, but she wasn't prepared to have it turned on her. She took a minute to form her answer.

"You know when you get out of the pool, how no matter how hot it is outside that run to the towel is absolutely, miserably cold?"

"Yeah…"

"Love is like that sun-baked towel. It doesn't matter if you were drowning in a cold pool or having the time of your life splashing around. Wrapping yourself up tight in that warm towel is always comfort at a primal level."

His smile was gone now, replaced by a thoughtful look. He was studying her again. Rory suddenly felt shy, a little embarrassed by her candor.

"No," he said at length. "I have never been in a sun-baked towel kind of love."

"You're laughing at me," she said lightly.

"I'm sure it's a good analogy. I just have no frame of reference."

A moment passed where Rory searched for something to say. Then Tristan filled the silence for her. "And have you ever been in my kind of love?"

"What kind of love is that?" she asked, cautiously.

"The kind of love I plan on having tonight with that date of mine."

Rory smiled. "And why would I share that with you?"

Tristan nodded slowly. "That little smirk just told me everything I need to know, Mary. Tell me, who was the chosen one who got to take your flower."

"Excuse me."

They both jumped, turning to see a man in a suit, presumably the owner of the very French accent that had just echoed through the room.

"You cannot be in here."

"Sorry," Rory said quickly. She hurried past the man out of the Chateau. Tristan followed at her heels. She didn't stop until she got to the tent. "Well," she said. "That was a good distraction. Good luck with that date of yours."

"I don't need luck," he responded, smirking. "And you didn't answer my question."

"And I'm not going to."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any characters associated with the show.**

**Chapter Six: Party in Da Club**

Rory sat stiffly on the bed of her hotel room. She was dressed in what she considered to be a rather tight dress, and she had blown out her hair. As the minutes ticked away she started to severely question why she had agreed to go out with Tristan tonight. Her bed looked very inviting. She ran through the conversation that had lead to this incident, which went something like this:

"So what are we doing tonight?" Tristan had asked as he watched Rory scarf down a chocolate pastry on a park bench.

"I'm having dinner with my grandmother."

"I meant after."

Rory shook her head as she ripped off a piece of flakey dough and popped it into her mouth. "Look, I don't mind you tagging along with me on my afternoon walks, but I'm not hanging out with you tonight."

"Come on. You have dragged me all over Zurich, Geneva, and Munich. I haven't complained once as we toured endless churches and fountains and stick figure sculptures."

"A. You have complained. Endlessly. B. You have a nasty habit of inviting yourself along on _my_ afternoon walks. If you don't share my idea of a good time, then by all means, entertain yourself elsewhere."

Tristan grabbed a piece of her pastry and stuffed it in his mouth. She pouted, and he smiled at her maliciously as he chewed. "Well fine then," he said, swallowing. "Since you have shown me _such_ a good time, I want to show you a good time."

"I don't think I'm interested."

"Don't you trust me?" he asked, playfully.

"Not in the slightest." She looked at her watch. "It's almost five," she said, standing up and brushing the crumbs off of her lap. "My grandmother will be up from her nap soon. It's time to go back."

Tristan stood, shoving his hands in his pocket as they strolled back in the direction of their hotel. They walked in silence for a little while. Rory peeked over at Tristan. Suddenly she began to wonder where he went when they weren't together. She felt like they had been spending a lot of time together, which was true. He had taken to joining her every afternoon between her morning sightseeing with her grandmother and the dinner engagements Emily and Rory always seemed to have. And she didn't mind his company. But he always looked like he had just rolled out of bed when he met her in the lobby around two every day. He had alluded to the debaucherous ways he had spent his evenings. And now, strangely, Rory's curiosity was peaked.

"So what _do_ you do at night?" she asked finally.

"Party."

"By yourself?"

"I know people."

"That's vague," she had responded, miffed that he was suddenly acting so aloof.

"Your grandmother isn't the only person who has friends traveling Europe in the summer."

"So you have this whole secret life after dark?"

"It's not very secret if I am trying to invite you to come join it."

Rory couldn't deny to herself that she wanted to go out and feel young. She had been feeling trapped the past few days, her only relief from the oppressive feeling came when she broke free from her grandmother and wandered the city with Tristan.

"It's okay to let go sometimes, Mary."

His words had stopped her in her tracks. Tristan had stopped too. He had cracked a smile as she opened and closed her mouth a few times.

"You are totally freaked out that I just called you out."

"You think I'm uptight?" she had asked, more righteous than incredulous.

His smile only grew. "Well, you are."

And so, inexplicably, she was here, perched on the edge of her bed, waiting for him to knock on her hotel room door. When the knock did come, her heart flopped heavily in her chest. She had heard enough snippets about Tristan's lifestyle to make her nervous about what the night would entail.

"I can always take a cab back to the hotel," she thought as she grabbed her clutch and tiptoed awkwardly in her heels towards the door.

"You look beautiful," Tristan said as she stepped into the hallway and shut the door quietly behind her. She had expected him to say that. She found that she enjoyed it anyway.

It was late, past eleven. Rory didn't recognize the nightshift concierge who hailed them a taxi. Tristan's eyes traveled up and down Rory's body slowly as they waited in the lobby.

"What?" she asked, growing uncomfortable under his gaze.

"I didn't think you owned a dress like that."

Something in his look reminded her of the way Dean had looked at her that night, several weeks ago now. And instead of feeling a wave of longing for Dean she felt a wave of power stemming from her ability to bring that look into someone else's eyes. Even if it was Tristan's. Maybe especially Tristan's, a known playboy.

The cab arrived and she slipped across the back seat, Tristan following next to her. He rattled off an address to the driver and settled back against the seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two nips. He held one out to Rory.

"What is it?" she asked, reaching for the bottle.

"Tequila," he responded in a low voice. She frowned. "This is my travel itinerary now. And I know how much you like to adhere to a schedule. Eleven twenty-seven says drink the nip."

She twisted off the tiny cap, clinked her little bottle against his, and downed half the contents of the nip.

"Gah!" she hissed, screwing up her face. Tristan laughed and took his own.

"So what is your drink going to be tonight?" he asked, shaking off the burn of his own tequila shot.

"Well, what does your itinerary say?"

He laughed. "Does that mean you want me to choose for you?"

"This is your night."

"Don't give me too much power," he teased. He said it lightly, but Rory interpreted the look in his eye as a warning.

* * *

The club was in a nondescript building on a busy street in Berln. Rory hadn't even realized they were close until the cab pulled over. She allowed Tristan to pay the fare, then slipped out onto the street. Tristan put his hand on the small of her back and steered her towards the front of the line. Tristan gave the bouncer a name she did not recognize and the man unhooked the rope blocking off the door, granting them entrance.

The club was loud, steamy, and blaring techno music. Rory immediately began to question her decision to sneak out and partake in the evening. She looked around, taking in the vaulted ceilings and writhing bodies on the dance floor.

"We have a table upstairs," Tristan yelled, leaning in close so she could hear him. She nodded and allowed him to lead the way through the crowd toward the VIP tables. Once upstairs he clearly recognized his friends. He walked quickly towards them, Rory following close behind him.

The table of young guys spotted him and shouted out "Dugrey!" warmly. Tristan shook hands all around. He then stepped aside and put an arm around Rory's shoulders. "This is Mary," he said simply. The guys nodded politely, then turned back to their previous conversations.

Tristan and Rory slipped into vacant spots around the table. "Do you even remember my name?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Then why don't you ever call me by it?" she asked.

"What are you drinking?"

"You're changing the subject."

Tristan beckoned the cocktail waitress over. "A margarita for the lady and a gin and tonic for me."

Rory waited expectantly for him to answer her question.

"So Mary, tell me a story." An arm slipped around her shoulders. She turned to her other side to find out who was talking to her.

"How about you start," she said.

"Alright then," the stranger obliged. He took a big swallow of his drink and recited:

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary how does your garden grow…"

"That's not a story," she scolded.

"It is if you feel like answering the question, Love."

Rory tossed a look over her other shoulder to Tristan. "Quit asking her about her garden, Finn."

"Apologies," he said in his thick accent, Australian, maybe. He removed his arm from Rory's shoulder. "I didn't realize you were tending to her flower."

He turned away, and Tristan leaned in. "Are you ever going to tell me who the lucky guy was? The curiosity is killing me."

She forced what she hoped to be a coy smile and shook her head.

Their drinks arrived. Rory was surprised to see that her margarita was served in a tall, skinny glass. Not the kind the kind that show up at Mexican restaurants. She took a sip. She could tell that the alcohol was strong, but it was delicious.

Time began to tick away as Rory and Tristan chatted with the boys at the table. Periodically one would slip off in pursuit of an attractive lady. A few more girls had joined the table by the time Rory finished her second drink. By the end of her third she had learned that Finn was a fellow Yale student in exile in Europe for the summer. From the stories he was telling about his last semester, she was unsurprised that she had never crossed paths with him on campus.

By the end of the fourth margarita, Rory's head was swimming pleasantly. And so when Tristan leaned into her ear and asked, "Do you want to get away from this techno?" she didn't hesitate before following him out of the booth and across the room.

It was clear at this point that Tristan was familiar with the club. He took her hand and led her to the third floor. The atmosphere was distinctly different. The dance floor was crowded in here, but instead of the blaring techno, the DJ was playing the familiar sounds of last year's Top 40 hip hop.

Tristan stopped first at the bar, getting them a fresh round of drinks. Rory was unsure about drinking another margarita, but as soon as Tristan clicked his glass against hers she threw caution to the wind. It wasn't like she was driving or anything.

He took her hand again, pulling her out onto the dance floor.

"Show me your best move," she challenged as 50 Cent blared over the speakers. He pulled her tight against his body and started to try to grind against her. Rory laughed, placing a hand against his chest and pushing herself out of his grip. "No! A real move."

Tristan thought for a moment, then proceeded to pantomime some kind of gesture. He looked so ridiculous with his arm extended and feet shuffling. She laughed again. "What the hell was that?"

"Walking the dog," he said, a genuine smile spreading across his lips.

The song changed, Nelly's _Shake Ya Tailfeather_ spreading across the room. Tristan grabbed her hand again, this time spinning her around the dancefloor. They danced, keeping a distance between them but cracking each other up with their moves. Before long Tristan's friends joined them and formed a dance circle. Somewhere in the middle of _Get Low_ Rory spilled her drink. She hardly noticed. One guy whose name she had missed pulled her into a dance towards the end of Beyonce's _Baby Boy_. By the time _Ignition _ came on, Tristan had pulled her back to him, his arms firmly locked around her waist.

She stayed pressed against him, and she could feel the way his hips moved against hers behind her. At times he sang the ridiculous lyrics of the song lowly in her ear, making her smile. Even when the song switched yet again to a Chingy song, Rory did not pull away. Tristan turned her so that they were now face to face. They locked eyes and she smiled. He reciprocated, warming her towards him even more. She felt the sway of their bodies, his shirt damp with sweat, his hands traveling lower until they slowly grazed her ass. She looked up at him again. He was going to kiss her. And she made the split decision to let him.

His lips were warm and firm and slow. It wasn't a hurried kiss, and they didn't stop moving to the music. She let her hands trail from where they were resting on his arms up his frame and around his neck. Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the heady atmosphere, maybe it was the tension that she knew had been slowly building between them for the past three weeks. But she felt like she was melting under an intense heat.

"Come home with me tonight," he said at last, breaking their kiss. Straight to the point. No room for any misconceptions.

She looked up into his eyes, saw them heavy and glazed, much like her own. She nodded.

He smirked. "Then let's get out of here."


	7. Chapter 7

Warning: This chapter is rated Mature. Please be advised. If you do not wish to read the sexual content of the chapter, you can skip ahead to the next chapter without missing critical plot information.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters associated with the show.

Chapter Seven: Lucky

Rory had the vague notion that she was being _that girl_ as she made out with Tristan in the back of the cab. But she didn't care. His kisses were urgent and consuming. His lips trailed down her neck, focusing attention on the spot that sent chills down her spine. She let her head fall back, revelling in the feeling. She opened her eyes to see Berlin's city lights whizzing past them out the cab window.

When the cab pulled up in front of the hotel, Tristan practically threw some bills in the driver's direction. He slid out of the car after Rory, grabbed her hand, and pulled her quickly through the lobby and into a waiting elevator. As soon as the doors closed he had her pinned against the wall, the weight of his body crushing her, making her want him to be even closer.

The elevator swiftly arrived on the fifth floor. With a mumble of protest, Tristan grabbed her hand again. He led her down the hall, fishing through his wallet for his key card, wasting no time. He abruptly stopped in front of one door, swiped the card, and pulled her inside.

The lights were on in the room. Tristan shut them off. The simple action made Rory's spine tingle. From excitement or fear, she wasn't exactly sure. He left her no time to debate the emotion. In an instant she was pulled back to him. His hands in her hair. Down her back. Cupping her ass. Then he was lifting her, her legs wrapping around his waist. He was kissing that magic spot on her neck again. And all she could feel was the way she was lined up with him, his cock pressing against her, through the layers they still had on.

He moved across the room, letting her fall back against the bed. She could only just make out his frame from the dim city light coming through the partially opened curtains. He was shaking off his suit jacket, letting the expensive piece fall into a heap on the floor. Rory's head was swimming. But Tristan's lips found hers again, and she didn't have time to think about anything but the feeling of her bottom lip between his teeth.

His hands traced their way up her legs as he crawled towards her on the bed. They moved slowly over her knees, then traveled inwards as they trailed slowly up her thighs. He pushed her legs open as his hands journeyed up. He leaned into the space he had created, pressing himself into her once again. She moaned quietly, eliciting a "You like that?" spoken lowly from him. She realized that she had her own hands tangled in his hair, a leg crooked around his hips. She did like it. And she wanted so much more.

He broke their kiss and pulled the skirt of her dress up around her waist. He took one look at the lace underwear she had on. "I like these," he said, running a finger along the fabric that just barely covered her, spread open as she was to him. "You're already so wet for me," he whispered in her ear. And he pushed the lace aside to plunge a finger, then two, inside of her.

He worked his fingers, trailing his kisses along the neckline of her dress. Her hands traveled his body, her hips working with his fingers to try to help ease the tension that was burning inside of her.

He pulled his fingers out of her, inserted one in his mouth, and held here eye contact as he sucked. She watched him, her first reaction of horror quickly replaced by sheer desire. She squirmed and watched as he unbuckled first his belt, then unzipped his pants. He pushed his pants down, not bothering to take them off, then hovered over her on the bed, holding himself above her, arms locked.

"Do you want me?"

"Mmm," she mumbled feeling like her body's response was answer enough to that question.

"Tell me."

"Yes.'

"Tell me."

"I want you."

"Tell me," he repeated. She opened her eyes, not realizing they had been closed, and looked at his. His dimly lit face showed a determined look, furrowed brow, challenging eyes. And in that moment she wanted him more than she had ever known she could want a person. And she was going to play his game.

"I want you to fuck me."

He smiled. Without bothering to remove any more clothing he simply pushed her panties aside and thrust inside of her.

The pain was still very much present. She hadn't considered that. She moaned quietly, and immediately hoped he interpreted it as a moan of pleasure rather than pain. He thrust slowly in and out, seemingly losing some of the frantic need that had been driving him just a minute ago.

"Christ you're tight, Rory," he said. He thrust slowly again. "You sure you've done this before?"

She caught his questioning gaze. And she so desperately didn't want to be the prudish girl he had always thought she was.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Go harder."

He pushed against her, harder. It still hurt. But she was done being a sissy about it. "Harder," she instructed. He quickened his pace. "Like that?" he asked, his breath warm in her ear. She moved her hands down his back and cupped his ass, pushing him into her. "Harder," she whispered back.

He groaned and began thrusting into her quickly. Her breathing was shallow as she felt him pushing into her. Her mind went pleasantly numb as as she adjusted to the feeling of his movements inside of her. Abruptly he pulled out completely, shifted his weight, and began rubbing his fingers against her clit. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the pillows, letting him bring her towards an orgasm. Just as she felt the tension pooling in her toes, preparing itself to pull through her body, he stopped.

She mumbled an incoherent protest. He kissed her deeply, and pressed the head of his cock against her clit. She bucked against him as she orgasmed. He slipped back inside of her, stretching her even as she contracted around him. Within seconds he was riding out the wave of his own orgasm as she panted beneath him.

He pulled out and collapsed onto the bed next to her. She watched as a slow smile spread across his face. "I've been wanting to do that to you for years."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: A short one. Since you are getting two in one day, after all.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any characters associated with the show.

Chapter Eight: Wake Up Call

He collapsed onto the bed next to her. She watched as a slow smile spread across his face. "I've been wanting to do that to you for years."

She smiled back at him, at a loss for words. Tristan sat up and pushed himself to the edge of the bed. He stood, pulling up his pants in a fluid movement. He buttoned and zipped them, leaving his belt hanging open. He crossed the room towards the mini fridge, opened it, and rummaged around inside.

Rory watched him, a growing self-conscious feeling sweeping through her. She pulled herself up and leaned against the headboard, wriggling her dress back over her hips as she did so. She curled her legs under herself.

Tristan returned and tossed her a water bottle. She caught it clumsily. "Drink it," he said. "You'll thank me in the morning."

She obeyed, untwisting the cap and raising it to her lips. He moved again, this time so that he was looking out the large windows into the city lights.

All of a sudden the night seemed to crash down on Rory. _He's avoiding me,_ she thought. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be far away from him, back in her own room with a sober head. Far away from this feeling of rejection that was drowning her.

"I should be getting back," she said. By the time Tristan turned she was on her feet, stepping into the heels she had no recollection of kicking off. She circled the bed, looking for her clutch.

"Lost something?"

"My bag. Wait, no. Got it." She was panicking. She could feel the heat rising up into her cheeks, embarrassment driving her out of the room, but not fast enough.

"Hey," he said. He was coming towards her. He reached out and steadied her, his hands on her shoulders. "I'm glad you came tonight."

He looked genuine enough. But everything felt so wrong to her. "Thanks for the, uh, water," she said lamely. She caught the beginning of his easy, teasing smile before turning and fleeing.

* * *

Rory woke up with the image of Tristan's back to her fresh in her mind. She hadn't even opened her eyes yet and already she felt a weight fall heavily upon her. She didn't move, giving herself a moment to run through a mental and physical check. She was sore from their nocturnal activities, her mouth dry from the alcohol, and her head was foggy. But no headache. Thanks to that bottle of water.

She groaned and rolled onto her side. No accompanying sea sickness. She definitely had thought she would be more hungover.

She cracked an eyelid open and twisted to see the clock on the bedside table. 11:30. Where was her grandmother? Why hadn't she woken her?

Reluctantly, afraid of what she would face, Rory pulled herself out of bed. She hobbled across the room and gave herself in a scalding hot shower. The steam cleared some of the cobwebs from her head. Left bouncing around were images of Tristan, recollections of how he had kissed her, touched her, confused her.

Emily was sitting in their common living room, writing out postcards at the small writing table. She looked up when Rory came into the room.

"Ah, good morning," she said brightly. "How did you sleep?"

Rory felt immediately cornered. There was no way that Emily could have known she had snuck out, right?

"You should have woken me," she answered. "I didn't know how late it was."

"I just got up an hour or two ago myself," Emily answered. Nothing in her voice sounded suspicious. "I figured that we have been doing so much traveling the past few weeks we deserve to give ourselves a bit of a rest. Do you mind? I thought that maybe we could reschedule our morning later this week."

"I don't mind," Rory answered.

"Listen, I'm glad you're up," Emily said. She gathered up the writing materials on the desk. "I was just about to run out and put these letters in the mail. Then I thought I would go along with Betty Holding to her hair appointment. She was certain that they would squeeze me in and this is the only place I trust until we arrive in Italy, and that isn't for another three weeks. How about you wake up, eat something, and we can meet up this afternoon?"

"That's fine, Grandma."

"I figured you wouldn't mind. I know that you prefer to have your afternoons to yourself."

"I really don't mind either way," she lied.

"Enjoy a quiet afternoon. I'll be back for dinner."

Rory sat on the couch, watching her grandmother collect the things she needed for her errands. Once she had left the room Rory quickly pulled a brush through her damp hair. She ordered lunch to the room. As the 2 o'clock hour approached, she went downstairs to take her accustomed chair in the lobby.

**Tristan never showed up.**


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters associated with the show.

Chapter Nine: Favorite Mistake

Thursday passed.

Then Friday.

On Saturday, Rory stopped making excuses for him.

On Sunday she stopped hoping to casually bump into him in the hotel and started dreading his inevitable reappearance. Because he would reappear. There was no way that he could have had sex with her and then left for another country without telling her. Right?

Jesus. Was this how Dean felt when she had slipped out of town without a warning? The thought knocked the wind out of Rory. She had been walking through an art gallery, but she quickly sank onto a bench crowded with tourists pondering the works on the wall. This feeling of regret, deception, betrayal-all caused by Tristan's sudden disappearance-had she caused Dean those same feelings?

The past three days she had just wanted to see Tristan to reassure herself that her decision to have sex with him didn't change _her_ fundamentally. Sex was just sex. Especially with Tristan. It was an empowered choice. Until he couldn't be bothered to treat her as anything other than someone he had used for his own pleasure and quickly discarded.

There had been all of those nights that Rory had been awake in her hotel bed, fuming over the thought that Dean was in bed with Lindsay. Had he been lying awake too, feeling like he the girl he had broken his vows for had used him for her own thoughtless games?

She couldn't do it. It was too much. She felt like she was drowning under the weight of the embarrassment of sleeping with Tristan, and the shame of using Dean.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Kirk broke the wind chimes, so, you know."

"What?" Rory asked, clutching the receiver closer to her ear in hopes to better understand her mother.

"Never mind, you wouldn't get it."

"Oh."

"So where are you?"

"Berlin."

"Berlin, Berlin, the city of sin."

Rory could feel her muscles tense in her shoulders. "Where'd you hear that?"

"It's got a nice ring to it, is all. No reason to get snippy."

"I'm not snippy!" she protested.

"You sound snippy."

"Oh, Rory, is that your mother? May I speak to her for a moment?"

Rory turned to see Emily walking into the room. She had never been more relieved to see the woman in her life. "Sure, Grandma," she said. She passed the receiver over without saying another word to her mother and returned to her room to finish packing.

Once again she reprimanded herself for calling Lorelai. Yes she felt lost. But her mother was being completely unreasonable. She wasn't even trying to mend fences. Well, that was the last time she would try that, she promised herself.

She grabbed a pile of t-shirts and began to refold them, then place them into her suitcase. A knock on the door to the hallway surprised her. She threw the shirt she was holding into the suitcase and went to open the door. And there, after four agonizing days, stood Tristan. Looking just as devilishly handsome as always.

"Hey," she said, coolly. Damn. She shouldn't have said anything to him at all.

"Are you guys on the flight to Spain tonight?"

"Yes."

"Us too. I don't know why we didn't just fly straight from Switzerland."

Her eyes narrowed as she examined him. "Why would you do that?"

"To save the flight we took this morning," he answered reasonably.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, the hurt that had been festering for four days turning quickly into anger.

"You were in fucking Switzerland?" she hissed.

"Yeah. I went with my Mom to some charity thing. Now I'm back with my Dad to go to Spain. It's like they don't get that I'm 19 and they don't need to have joint custody of me."

"You could have told me, you know."

"What?"

"About Switzerland."

"I did."

She tilted her head and gave him a look that he could have only interpreted as a seething glare. She watched as he rubbed the stubble of his chin, thinking.

"Shit. I thought I did. So you're mad at me because you thought I just took off?"

She sniffed and looked up towards the ceiling, then past him out the door. He had a way of making her feel so small and foolish. Again.

"Whatever. It's no big deal. I just thought you'd call or something."

"Oh yeah? On our imaginary international cell phones?"

She sniffed again, indignantly. "Fine. Whatever. See you on the plane." She moved to close the door but he slipped into the room before she could close it.

"What? Get out, my grandmother is in the other room," she whispered.

"Look, I came here for a reason," he said, ignoring her. His face was solemn.

"Okay," she said, letting the word trail a little in the air.

He rubbed his face with his hand, clearly stalling.

"Well, come on, spit it out," she demanded, impatient.

"I didn't have on a condom the other night."

Rory's heart thudded heavily against her ribcage, then stalled. It felt like an eternity before it beat again. When it did, she noticed Tristan was still talking.

"...so I know I'm clean, and if you're on the pill-"

"I'm not on the pill," she said quietly.

"Oh." With that little syllable he sank down onto her bed, right on top of her pile of clothes.

She turned her back to him, her thought running through her mind like molasses. She couldn't look at him until she had an answer to this problem.

"Rory?" he asked at length.

She turned to him slowly. "Fuck you, Tristan."

"Hey…"

"No hey!" She was yelling now, oblivious to the fact that her grandmother was in the other room. "You don't have any fucking right. Here I've been feeling completely used by you for the past _four days._ And then you march up here and tell me that not only did I make the biggest mistake of my life, but I could also be pregnant because you couldn't be bothered to put on a fucking condom?"

"We were both drunk, Ror."

"Don't 'Ror' me," she spat. "That was on you. We both know that drunk, casual sex is not really my thing. That's your game. You should be better at following the rules."

"Fine. You're right. Are you happy? And yelling at me about it isn't going to solve our problem."

Being right didn't make her happy, not in the slightest.

"So let's figure this out. When was your last... you know."

Period. He couldn't even say the damn word. And to be honest, she had no desire to discuss the topic with him, either. How the hell were they supposed to get through this, whatever _this_ was, if they couldn't even say the damn word period?

"I don't know, Zurich, maybe?"

"Are you sure?"

She was positive. She remembered exhaling the breath she didn't know she had been holding for weeks, relieved that even though she and Dean had remembered protection there were no surprises.

"How long ago was that?" he asked.

"Two weeks, I guess?" she said.

"And when can you…?"

"I don't know. Week three or something?"

His face lit up. "So we're okay then?"

She shook her head. "I don't think it's that simple."

"Can you take a test?"

"I guess that's the only thing to do."

She rummaged through the room to find her purse. "Get up. You're coming with me," she said.

* * *

They hurried out of the hotel and down the city streets until they reached a pharmacy. Rory scoured the shelves, but could not locate the tests. They eventually asked a saleswoman, who was able to locate the boxes. Tristan quickly paid for it and they left the store.

"Now what?" he asked. They were standing just outside the doorway of the pharmacy.

"I don't think these directions are translated to English," Rory said, her heart sinking. She opened the box and flipped through the accompanying leaflet. She had been right.

"There's probably an internet cafe on this street," Tristan said. "We could go online and try to translate the German."

So, with no better option, they set off down the street. They eventually encountered a small internet cafe. Tristan bought a half-hour of internet time from the woman at the front desk. They settled in to a computer in a vacant row along the back wall.

Tristan tried to dictate the German directions while Rory typed, but his accent was so contrived that she ended up snatching the pamphlet away from him and transcribed it herself. Under lighter circumstances she would have appreciated his attempt. But her heart felt anything but light.

"I think we have to wait."

"Where does it say that?" he asked, leaning over her to see the screen.

"Well, it doesn't, exactly. It says "'19 days after the relations hesitate to take the exam fully.'"

"Ah," he said, skeptically. "Well what does it say about the timing of your, you know, period."

"That seems to suggest that we are ok."

He let out a quick breath of air and leaned back in his seat. Rory watched him curiously.

"Do you need a drink?" he asked.

"I don't think I can," she responded automatically.

"Come on, there can't seriously be a chance that you're considering keeping our nonexistent kid."

"Abortion isn't an easy decision for me."

"You're not pregnant!"

"We don't actually know that."

"We need a drink," he said. And he firmly pulled Rory out of her chair and back onto the street.

* * *

They ended up at the first bar they had passed. It was dark and utilitarian. Tristan was on his third whiskey. Rory was nursing her first gin and tonic. It was strong. She guiltily took small sips every few minutes.

"You know, I never sleep with girls like you."

She looked up at him. Perhaps she should have been offended, but she was running out of the capacity of adding emotions to the burden she was already schlepping around.

"Is that so?" she asked.

"Girls like you, the careful ones, always seem to get into bigger trouble than the other type."

Rory snorted. "Trouble is trouble, Tristan."

"Some girls are more prone to the trainwreck. And when it happens, it happens. And then there's girls like you. Who have this look on their face like the whole world has stopped and caved in at their feet."

"Because my life is just that picture perfect?"

"Squeaky clean," he affirmed.

She shook her head and looked past him into the empty bar.

"You don't like hearing that said out loud?" he challenged.

"It just shows that you don't know me at all."

"Oh really?" Another challenge.

She took a sip of her drink. "My mother got pregnant with me when she was fifteen years old. She had me at 16. By 17 she had run away from her parents house with me in tow. If I appear to be one of the good, sheltered girls, then that is a compliment to the work that my mother put in to raising me to make sure that I didn't follow her lead and end up a trainwreck."

"You're still pretty damned squeaky clean."

She felt her anger towards him rise again. Those words were the most insulting thing she had ever heard in her life. The intention behind it so stabbing.

"I'm a mess, Tristan. Don't you get it? It's all too much. I've already been letting everybody down, and now this…"

"How could you possibly be a disappointment?" he asked drily.

"I had to drop a class last semester," she started.

"Woo hoo, big deal," he said. "I got expelled."

"I'm in a pretty bad fight with my Mom."

"So is every teenage girl in America."

"I'm potentially knocked up by an asshole."

"Come on Mary, you can't win this one."

"I slept with Dean."

"That high school jock boyfriend you had? Every good girl loses it on Prom night."

"He was married."

That seemed to take the wind out of Tristan's sails. He sat back, studying her for a moment. It only took a minute for Rory to stop feeling smug that she had proven something to him and start regretting what she had just shared.

And then, he actually chuckled. "So I knocked up the Bagboy's dirty mistress."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Roller Coaster

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any character associated with the show.

If her life were a movie, she would have thrown her drink in his face, stormed out, and floated on a cloud of righteous indignation all evening. But she didn't react that quickly to his words. Instead, she sat, letting the insult wash over her, lapping against her in small but persistent waves of hurt.

He was shaking his head at her, laughing at her. "Well, I guess you won."

"Won what, Tristan?" she snapped. "Your sick game? Fine. Great."

"If I remember correctly, you were the one who was trying to prove something here."

"Fine! I'm all fucked up. I have some kind of sick need to prove to you that I'm not the waspy naive wallflower you think I am. And now you are sitting here looking at me like I'm the biggest jackass on the planet."

"Jackass? Not the word I was going for."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared him down, daring him to say it. He didn't. She felt the tears building in her eyes anyway.

"You don't get to do that."

"What?" she sniffled, struggling to hold the tears back.

"Cry."

"I think I have earned the right," she choked.

"Look, you're probably not even pregnant. I'm sorry I even told you."

"What, you were debating _not?_"

"I don't know..."

"Wait, when did you figure out that you had forgotten the condom?"

He swirled the drink in his glass. "Pretty much the second it was over."

Rory thought back to that night. So did that explain why he had withdrawn so suddenly? She wanted to ask him, but she couldn't bear the idea of him knowing she needed him to acknowledge that he had felt some form of connection to her.

"You should have told me then," she sniffled instead.

"I'm sorry," he answered simply. And then, sincerely he repeated "I'm really sorry, about all of this."

Rory nodded, accepting the sentiment. She was sorry too. So sorry about everything that she had done in the past few weeks.

"Look, we should head back. You need to finish packing, right?"

He was already inching out of his chair. She nodded. They left the bar and walked back to the hotel without exchanging another word.

* * *

"Where did you go this aftenoon?" Emily asked her granddaughter, pulling Rory out of her thoughts. Overhead, the loudspeaker blared instructions in German, then English about a departing flight several gates down. "I rushed down to my luncheon with Linda Lockheart after I got off the phone with your mother, and you were nowhere to be found."

"I was with Tristan," she answered absently. The look on her grandmother's face made Rory realize the mistake she had made. Up until now she had never even hinted at the fact that they had interacted after that awkward show Tristan put on their first night in London.

"The Dugrey boy?" Her tone was filled with icy malice. "Whatever for?"

Rory's mind raced. How could she have let that slip? Then she thought to her possible pregnancy. Maybe she needed to plant the seed of their relationship now so that at least when, no-if, she had to confess to her grandmother it wouldn't seem like such a shot from left field.

"Just coffee, Grandma. He wanted to catch up."

"With you? But why?"

The genteel puff of air that accompanied Emily's _why_ made Rory's spine stiffen in defense. "I don't know. To reminisce about high school? It is kind of strange that we have been in all of the same cities and avoiding each other."

"I don't like the idea of you running around with that boy in a foreign city," she said sternly.

"It was just coffee," Rory said, and decided to steer away from her original plan. "And I'm sure there won't be a repeat."

"Well, thank goodness for that." Emily sat back against the stiff terminal bench. She looked deeply bothered by Rory's news, minor as it was. Rory regretted not being better prepared with an alibi. Well, at least she knew now that her grandmother had already slipped out of the hotel room before she could hear Rory fighting with Tristan in her bedroom.

She looked out across the gate. Tristan had arrived with his father and stepmother. His headphones were on, a new iPod in his hand. He was watching her. Something about that made her feel relieved. She hadn't been able to take her mind off of him for days, especially now. She was glad that he couldn't seem to take his attention off of her either. It made her feel less alone. But also very, very desperate to feel close to him.

With an excuse to her grandmother, Rory walked away from the gate and down the long terminal. As she walked she ran through the list of people she would have to tell she was pregnant. Her mother. Her grandmother. Richard. Luke. Dean. Oh God, Dean. Would Dean be angry with her, or just cold? Lane. Paris. Oh, God. Paris.

"Rory!"

She turned at the sound of his voice. He was quickly closing the distance between them, a serious look stretched across his face.

"You okay?" he asked lamely.

She shrugged, incapable of words.

He pulled her to him in a tight embrace, holding her firmly against his chest. "You're going to be okay. The world isn't ending."

"Easy for you to say," she mumbled.

He pulled back slightly, giving her a stern look. "Nothing has been done that can't be undone."

She shook her head. "Even if I'm not...pregnant. I've ruined everything. I've hurt a lot of people."

He had the audacity to smile at that. "And that, Gilmore, is a very attractive quality." He kissed her before she could protest. It was a confident kiss, firm and demanding. He didn't deepen it, just let it linger between them for a moment.

"So maybe I have never given you any reason to trust me," he conceded as he pulled away from her, not loosening his hold on her body. "But trust me in this?"

There was a vulnerability in his face that made Rory unravel just enough. She ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes against her soothing gesture. And in that moment she wanted nothing more than to believe him.

She stood on tiptoe and placed a very soft kiss on his lips.

* * *

That night, after arriving in Madrid, Tristan came up to her hotel room. He simply came in, settled onto the bed next to her, and flipped on the small television set, much as he had done several weeks before in Paris. He switched through the stations until he settled on a rerun of _Friends,_ dubbed, of course.

He didn't make a move on Rory, just put an arm around her. As they tried to piece together the plot of the episode from memory and the shared three semesters of Spanish between them, Rory slowly sank against him until she was curled up against his chest. At the end of two episodes, Tristan kissed her goodnight and returned to his room.

He paid her these visits for the next two nights as well. During the day Rory toured the public park with her grandmother, shopped, dined in restaurants. She found herself disinterested in exploring during her grandmother's naps in the afternoon and instead chose to try to sleep away the anxiety that plagued her.

Tristan left for a short trip to the countryside with his father and stepmother. The days he had been gone left Rory with little distraction but to stew in self-doubt.

On Monday, she got her period. As the color seemed to come back into her vision, she breathed her first real breath in ten days or so. She wanted to run out of her room and share the relief. But she didn't have to look around to understand that with Tristan out of the range of communication until he returned, she had no one to tell.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Out in the Cold

A/N: Sorry for the long wait...life got in the way of my writing. There is plenty more to this story, though, so thanks for sticking with it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any characters associated with the show.

Tristan opened the door to his hotel room shirtless, and Rory gave up. In the days that had passed since she had gotten her period, she had sworn to herself that she wasn't going to have sex with Tristan again. It wasn't worth it. Besides, sex was turning out to be a whole lot of complications for a few minutes of pleasure.

They were in Barcelona. The Dugreys had returned from their trip. And here she was, standing in the hallway with a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. The gesture, which she had intended to be purely celebratory, now seemed to her blatantly sexual. Especially when he stood there half-naked. Her mouth went dry as nerves washed over her. She took in the sight of his toned chest muscles, the trail of hair leading below the waistband of his sweats. She hadn't seen him naked in their one frenzied hook-up. Just as he hadn't seen her body either. The thought made her shiver, from fear or desire she would have to figure out later.

"We are celebrating?" he asked in greeting, nodding towards the champagne. She nodded. He wrapped one strong arm around her and pulled her to him, crushing his lips against hers, kissing her deeply. He let her go and took the champagne and glasses from her hands. She closed the hotel room door as he crossed the room to the writing desk to open the bottle and pour the drinks.

"How was your trip?" she asked casually.

"Fine."

She waited, hoping he would expound on that point. He didn't. She didn't pry.

He turned back to her and handed her a glass of champagne. He raised his own in a toast. "To no more teen pregnancies," he said, a dark smile gracing his lips.

Rory raised her glass and bobbed her head in acknowledgement. She sipped her champagne, the bubbles erupting in her mouth and leaving a hot trail down her throat as she swallowed.

"What did I miss around here?" he asked, lounging back on the bed.

Rory joined him, sitting with her feet curled under her. "Your mother spent several very long evenings telling us tales about her new husband's yacht."

"You met my mom?" he asked. Rory smiled a little at the crack of vulnerability she heard in his voice.

"Yeah. She shared a dinner table with us the whole time you were gone. I think I know more about your stepfather's stock portfolio than he does."

"Christ," Tristan swore. He took a drink from his champagne. "The woman just doesn't know when to shut the fuck up."

"Hey!" Rory scolded gently. "She's your mom."

"So? You don't agree?"

"You can't talk like that about the woman who gave you life."

Tristan snorted. "That is some pretty heavy feminist shit."

"I'm just saying."

"Aren't you on pretty bad terms with your own mom right now?" he shot back at her.

"Yeah, but that's not any reason to be mean."

He took another long pull from his glass as he studied her. "Then clearly our mothers are from two completely different categories of mothers. What could she have possibly done? I thought you guys were all proud of how you were like sisters and shit."

Rory debated avoiding the question. But after everything the past few weeks, what was a little honesty now?

"She didn't like that I slept with Dean."

"Shocking. A mother doesn't want her daughter to be some married dude's mistress."

His statement was simple, but its straightforward nature cut through her. She took a sip of her champagne, then another.

"So you make one bad call and its, what, over between you guys?"

Rory shrugged. "Seems like it."

"Come on. That's stupid."

"I agree."

"And the beloved Dean. Where does he play in?"

"What do you mean?"

"I guess I'm asking you if you are with him or something."

"Oh," she said softly. She paused, over what she wasn't sure. "No. I'm not."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah. Because if your mom is already pissed that you're sleeping with a married guy, she'd probably be really pissed that you're sleeping with me on top of that."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"Oh really? Then how did you think you almost got knocked up?"

"That was a one time thing."

"Which is exactly why you showed up to my bedroom wearing that little thing."

Rory looked down at her dress that Tristan was ogling. It was a sundress, nothing special. So maybe it did show off some of her curves nicely. She had worn it all day. It wasn't like she had put it on for him. She looked back up. He was watching her. His "_good_" from a moment ago echoed through her mind. Was that more possessive than he had let on?

He had put his glass down on the bedside table, and he was sitting up, closing the distance between them. And then he was kissing her, and she was on top of him, and he was peeling off her dress. He moved his hands to the clasp of her bra, which snapped her mind back into reality.

"We can't," she said softly.

"Why not?" he asked, trailing kisses down her neck but dropping his hands to the narrow curve of her waist.

"We barely dodged a bullet."

"I bought out Spain's supply of condoms."

She smiled a little, rolling her eyes at him. "Tristan-"

"I'm not done with you, Rory."

There was an earnestness in his voice that made her believe him, made her feel like she had never been so desired in her life. And so, despite the promises she had made to herself about "the right thing," she reached her hands behind her and unclasped her bra before bending down and giving him an inviting kiss.

* * *

Afterwards, they stayed in bed for a while, naked, watching a Spanish cooking show on television. She delighted in the feeling of his hands tracing slow, light lines over her bare flesh. She took pleasure in the feeling of his legs entangled with hers under the crisp hotel linens. This kind of lingering intimacy was new to her, matched only by the few minutes she had stolen with Dean that first time. Eventually she must have succumbed to the heavy, drifting sleep that nagged at her.

"Mare-"

"Hmm," she grumbled softly. There was a firm hand rocking her shoulder. She cracked an eye open. Tristan. "What?" she asked, annoyed to be woken from her sated slumber.

"Don't you need to get back?"

"What?"

"Your room...your grandmother?"

She rubbed a hand across her eyes and sat up, clutching the sheet to her bared chest. "What?" she repeated.

"Won't your grandmother notice you gone?"

_No, _she thought firmly. She hadn't paid enough attention to Rory's whereabouts to deduce any of her clandestine meetings with Tristan up to this point.

Oh my God, he was trying to get rid of her.

"Um, yeah," she answered lamely. "Thanks." _Thanks?_

She slid out of bed, gathering her articles of clothing quickly, trying her best to avoid looking at him. He was still in bed, surely watching her. She pulled on her dress, stuffing her bra and panties into the purse she had brought with her.

"Well, goodnight," she said quickly.

"Hey."

She turned to him, expecting him to be proving her wrong.

"Put out the do not disturb sign on your way out?"

She stared at him for the briefest moment, lying in bed, too distant to even give her a proper goodbye. Something inside of her felt suffocated. She turned and walked out the door without saying anything further to him.

She put the tag on the doorknob anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any character associated with the show.

Chapter Twelve: Seasick

Rory pushed her salad around her plate unenthusiastically. She snuck a glance at her grandmother, but it was clear that Emily wasn't paying any attention to Rory's appetite. In fact, she was pushing her cucumbers around in a motion that seemed to reflect Rory's own mood.

Maybe they should just go home, she thought.

"Grandma..."

"Mm?" Emily answered, distractedly.

"When is our flight back home?" She tried for a casual tone.

"The agent booked it for August 23 but that reminds me I need to call and have it bumped to a week earlier so that you have ample time to settle back in before you start Yale. I left her a voicemail a week ago, but the woman seems to be completely incapable of returning messages. How she even conducts business, I have no idea. Your grandfather and I have been using this agency for years, I would hate to have to switch just because of the new floozy they have hired to cover our regular girl's maternity leave."

Rory pushed a tomato across her plate.

"Why do you ask?" Emily cocked her head, as if noticing Rory across the table for the first time all of lunch.

"Just wondering," she said. Mid-August was still nearly a month away. "Hey, how's Grandpa?" Again, casually.

Emily's eyebrow arched as her spine visibly stiffened. "Fine. Why?"

"I thought I heard you talking to him last night," Rory answered honestly. When she had come back to the suite after leaving-no, being kicked out of-Tristan's room, Rory had hear Emily's end of yet another disagreement on the phone.

"I thought you had gone to bed."

"I wasn't eavesdropping or anything."

"It's fine."

"I think he misses you. He wants you home, Grandma."

Emily's eyebrow arched even higher. "He's made it quite clear that he is comfortable exploring his independence." She stabbed a tomato wedge and popped it into her mouth theatrically.

"But-"

"Please Rory. When you are separated from the man that you have been married to for forty years, then we can revisit this conversation." She stabbed another tomato.

Rory sighed. So there goes that plan of trying to change her flight. There was still the option of leaving Emily and going back to Stars Hollow. But honestly, which was worse, staying abroad and facing Tristan's rejection or going home and facing Dean's wife?

Jesus, she had made a mess of things. Her cheeks flushed hotly as she ran through the way Tristan had gotten her out of his bed last night. Would Dean have done that to her, she wondered?

As she had lay awake in her own bed she had imagined that night's scene with Dean. In her original daydream (nightdream?) she had lounged lazily with Dean in the big hotel bed, sated, connected. They had fallen asleep, he had pulled her tightly against him in his sleep. They had awoken in the morning and ordered room service-no, dressed and gone to brunch.

But then another image had crept into her mind. That of Dean making excuses to leave her alone, sneaking back into his house and into Lindsay's bed. Would he shower when he got home, or would he just go directly to his wife's side?

Staying abroad it was.

* * *

When they arrived back at the hotel after lunch, Rory spotted Tristan sitting in a lobby chair, flipping through the pages of a book. He looked up and glanced over his shoulder, the recognition on his face betraying the fact that he was waiting for her.

"I think I'm just going to go straight out for my walk, no point going all the way up."

"Remember we have orchestra tickets tonight," Emily said. "We need to be dressed by six-thirty."

"Sure," Rory answered. Emily made her way back to her room. When the elevator doors had closed behind her, Rory approached Tristan.

"So what is in store for today's adventure?" he asked, putting down his book.

"I didn't really count on you coming."

"Why, you going somewhere you'd be ashamed to be seen with me?"

"Some adventures are meant to be had on your own."

"Oh don't tell me. I really want to guess where it could be that you wouldn't take me. In the past month you have dragged me to churches, museums, thrift stores, bookshops, cafes, bars, and don't forget the sex toy shop-"

"The guidebook said novelty store! I was souvenir shopping. And we didn't go in once we realized what it was!"

"_And novelty shop._ Where could you possibly be going today where my presence is banned?"

It wasn't the destination she was banning him from, she just hadn't expected him to want to spend the afternoon with her, not after his cold demeanor last night. God he was impossible to read.

"A Goudi walking tour."

"Oh come on..."

She crossed her arms defensively. "You don't have to come."

Tristan put down the book and rose from the armchair. "You are limited to three stops."

"I have five on my agenda."

"Three."

"Five."

"Six."

Tristan smiled at that one. Then suddenly his lips were on hers. "Three."

"Fine, fine," Rory said softly. "Six it is."

* * *

Her tour of Goudi's stunning architecture led them around the city, past a striking building nestled between unobtrusive apartments, around the Sagrada Familia, still under construction, and finally up to the heights of Park Guell. For once, even Tristan seemed to be absorbed by the sheer eccentricity of the designs they were taking in. Rory was amused each time he pointed her attention to another architectural quirk.

"I mean, what do you think it looked like inside this guy's head?" Tristan mused. He had taken a step back, trying to take in a panoramic view of the mosaic-walled terrace. "It's like one big acid trip, but they didn't even have that stuff then."

Rory wondered fleetingly if Tristan had ever tried acid. He had never brought up his drug usage again after that initial conversation they had had over his cocaine use in college.

"Let's head over that way, I think you can see the water." Rory followed Tristan. They crossed the terrace and sat on a part of the mosaic-covered bench. They sat for a few minutes in silence, looking over their shoulders at the view of the city below.

She turned after a while and watched him as he stared off into the distance. The breeze played with the blonde hair that suddenly appeared long to her. He must not have had a haircut this summer yet. "What are you thinking about?" she asked at length.

He shook his head slightly, still facing the view. "Nothing, really."

Inexplicably, she felt disappointed. He turned to her. "You?"

She looked back out at the city, stalling for a moment. Then she said, "I was thinking about how many people have been here, looking out at this view. And how many people are down in the city going about their normal business. And all the people in the other cities we have visited this summer. And how we all just go about our lives, shouldering the same problems."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Why worry about that stuff on such a beautiful day?"

"I don't know, I guess something about this place seems pretty introspective."

"And what are these universal problems we shoulder? Fights with mothers?"

"Forget it."

"No, now you've got me all intrigued."

"It's nothing. Just drop it."

"Affairs with married lovers?"

"God, Tristan. Can't you just drop it?" She could feel herself shooting daggers at him through her eyes. He studied her for a second, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"That guy's still really under your skin?"

"Leave it alone, please."

"Do you want to come to a party with me tonight?"

"What?"

"I know a guy who has a yacht and he is docked over at the marina. I hear it's pretty nice. I've seen some pictures. You in?"

"I have orchestra tickets with my grandmother. Then dinner afterwards."

"I'll wait."

"Yacht parties aren't really my scene."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't find a library where we can hang out after midnight."

Rory smiled, her guard falling. "Is it the same guys we met up with in Berlin?"

"Some of them. The guy with the yacht you haven't met yet."

"And how do you know Yacht Guy?"

"Yacht Guy and I met in Vegas."

"That must have been some impressive sailing on his part."

"Yacht Guy is also occasionally Private Jet Guy."

"He doesn't happen to moonlight as Helicopter Guy on weekends?"

"No, Helicopter Guy is spending his summer chasing socialites in the Hamptons."

"Huh."

"What?"

"I can't compete with Yacht Guy or Helicopter Guy, but I do have a Hayride Girl."

Tristan laughed. "You're joking."

"I can't say that I am."

"And that," he said, standing up. "Is what makes you the most interesting girl I have ever slept with."

She stood too. "You mean my small town charm isn't so embarrassing after all?"

"You couldn't embarrass me," he said. There was a smirk on his lips, but Rory read a sincerity in his eyes. She felt the connection between them, that heavy feeling of intimacy, desire, fear. And it was punctuated by her recollection of the seasick feeling she got when he turned away from her after sex.

She looked at her watch, deliberately breaking the moment. "We need to head back so I'm not late for my Grandma."

* * *

Rory had anticipated meeting up with Tristan very late, by her standards. She had anticipated the exceptionally ostentatious "yacht," which really, was more accurately described as a baby cruise ship. She had also anticipated the boat to be well serviced by nautically-clad crew members. She had not, however, anticipated the yacht setting sail.

No one seemed to mind that Rory and Tristan were the last on board. They were greeted with rowdy cheers from the guests. Looking around, it was a sea of polo-clad college kids, mostly male. The females in attendance were all dressed like Rory in tight cocktail dresses. Rory had wanted to change into jeans when she had returned to the hotel with her grandmother. But she had passed Tristan who was waiting for her return in the lobby, and the look on his face told her that she needed to keep that dress on.

"Mary, you remember some of these guys from Berlin? Thomas, Skippy, Finn? I'm going to grab us drinks, I'll be right back."

She watched Tristan walk away, then turned to the guys she had been deposited in front of. "Skippy?" she asked, eyeing the gentlemen in front of her. "Is that some kind of peanut butter thing or did you have a weird affinity for Skip-its?"

"What's a Skip-it?" the Australian, Finn, asked.

One of the guys chimed in for him. "You know, that toy that was a plastic thing with the ring that you swung around..."

"You mean a Hula Hoop?"

"No, no. It was just for your foot. And it counted your jumps..."

"I don't know what kind of moronic entertainment you little rich kids had in the States but we had sophisticated toys in our land."

"Nice throwback," the guy said, turning back to Rory. "I'll have to dig one of those up and show Finn how it's done."

"I bet you could find one in those Chinese dollar stores that are all over Spain. I swear those places are like the Valley of Misfit American toys."

"From the 90s."

"Only in the New Arrivals display."

The guy chuckled and extended his hand. "I'm Logan, by the way. Mary, was it?"

"Here you go, Babe." A drink appeared in her hand, Tristan's arm around her waist. She smiled her thanks to him, surprised by the endearment.

"Skippy here was just about to tell me how he got his nickname," she told Tristan.

A rather plump fellow stepped up and tipped his sailor's cap in greeting. "I'm the Skipper of this ship. And since it looks like we are all aboard, it looks like it is time for me to go speak with the Captain. Anchors away!" he shouted. A round of cheers arose around the room.

She spun around to face Tristan. "We're setting sail?"

"Well, we are on a boat."

"But it's midnight?"

"It's five o'clock somewhere," he quipped.

"But if I have to get back..."

"We'll be back by dawn."

"Dawn?"

Images of her grandmother flashed through her mind. How would she ever explain herself if she was really stuck here on this boat and had to sneak in at daybreak. And what if something happened? Oh God, she couldn't do this.

"You're already here, Mare. What's the difference if we stay docked or if we float a little bit."

"The difference is that I can leave."

"Oh, live a little." He drank from his cocktail glass.

She wanted to walk away, to tell him she was uncomfortable. She wanted to be in control. But she didn't say those things. In the end, it was probably more fear than courage that kept her on the boat. She chugged down her drink to silence the guilty voice in her head.

To Be Continued


End file.
